


Jerry

by PaxterHobber



Series: My Master Gabriel [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Master/Slave, Neglect, Past Abuse, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:47:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27722338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxterHobber/pseuds/PaxterHobber
Summary: How Jerry became a new member of Gabriel's household
Series: My Master Gabriel [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027731
Comments: 144
Kudos: 152





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of a backstory to the Best Gift Ever work that I'm working on. It could probably be read as a stand-alone though all the characters are established in the main fic.
> 
> Basically I just wrote this for my own entertainment and also because I was stuck with the newest chapter of The Best Gift Ever (but don't worry, I'm working on it). If you're interested, make sure to subscribe to the series because I might be adding more little backstories or sidestories, whenever I feel like it.

Gabriel sits down to finally enjoy his cup of coffee in the garden. Everything’s still a bit wet after the morning rain, turning the blotchy grass to mud, and Gabriel groans in disgust at squelching sound beneath his slippers.

The garden’s a mess but he still enjoys taking his coffee here, now that the sun finally starts to feel warm again.

With a satisfied sigh, he sips on the coffee as he browses the news, enjoying his ten minutes of peace and quiet. It is cut short when not two minutes later he hears his sister pull into the driveway. It takes but one look at her getting out of the car to know his day is about to get significantly more stressful.

“Hanna!” he calls out to her and she flinches, grinning a bit guiltily. She probably wasn’t expecting Gabriel to be out in the garden.

“Gabe,” she smiles sweetly as she stalks closer but Gabriel pays her no mind, all his attention on the hunched boy following meekly at her heels.

“Who in the world is that?”

“Oh, this? This is—um. Jimmy, right?” she grabs the boy’s arm pushing him forward. He shrinks even more into himself, his greasy curly hair falling down his eyes as he keeps his head bowed. He’s wearing the standard thin sweatpants and sweatshirt they put on slaves at the auction, complete with the auction house crest.

“Please don’t tell me you just bought a slave!” he groans even though he already knows what the answer’s going to be.

“Oh yeah, I did. Isn’t he cute? And I got 50 percent off on him, it was a great deal!”

“Hanna!” Gabriel snaps, unable to hold back his irritation, pushing away his cooling coffee.

“What? Just look at him,” she grabs a fistful of the boy’s hair and tilts his head back. “He’s adorable. Worth so much then twenty thousand!”

Gabriel’s eyes briefly flick to the fearful wide eyes of the boy. He is pretty, he’ll give her that, with his blue eyes and round face framed by messy blond curls.

“That’s not the point! We do not need another slave and you can’t buy one just because he was on sale. He’s not a purse or a pair of shoes!” he raises his voice. “Do you have any idea what kind of responsibility it is?”

Hanna’s smug expression slips away, replaced by anger as she lets go of the boy. “I’ll be twenty next month, I’m not a kid. I’ve been asking you for a personal slave for almost a year now and you never bought me one. It’s not fair!”

Gabriel pinches the bridge of his nose, overwhelmed by frustration. This is like the time Hanna’s been begging him for a pet when she was eight. After months of pestering, he gave in and she chose a pet rat, out of all the cute animals she could have had. He still remembers the look of utter disgust on Dennis’ face when she proudly showed it off. For a few weeks she carried it everywhere and then suddenly, she lost interest. Gabriel completely forgot about the animal and it would have probably died of hunger in its cage if Dennis didn’t start feeding it. Eventually, he grew fond of the little rodent and even moved it to his room. Gabriel smiles at the memory of Dennis carrying the rat on his shoulder around the house but soon he sobers up. He really doesn’t want this to end up the same.

“Gabe, please,” Hanna changes tactics when he doesn’t answer. “Please. You know I could really use some help with all the uni work and around the studio. And he will be modeling for me, I always wanted my own live-in model. Please, Gabe. I will take care of him, I swear. You won’t even know he’s here.”

“Look at him, Hanna, he’s just a kid! He’s way too skinny and most likely damaged, given he was half-off. There might be something very wrong with him, he might have behavioral problems, might be aggressive or disobedient. There’s a lot of things to consider, which is why it’s never a good idea to buy a slave on a whim like that!”

“Alright,” Hanna deflates. “I guess I’ll just—take him back to the auction,” she drawls out and makes a move to reach for the boy, who whimpers in fear, his legs giving up under him as he dives to his knees.

“No, please, Mistress—Master—please don’t take me back, please…” he shakes his head desperately. Hesitantly, he looks between the two of them and then clearly decides it’s Gabriel he needs to persuade and crawls closer, pressing his head to muddy grass next to Gabriel’s feet while babbling his panicked pleas.

Hanna crosses her arms and watches Gabriel with a satisfied smirk. Damn, she knows all too well Gabriel’s too soft-hearted to turn the begging boy away. Well played.

“Fine!” he snaps as he steps gingerly over the trembling boy at his feet. “But he is _your_ responsibility. I expect you to take full care of him and not bother me with it.”

He walks past victoriously grinning Hanna into the house, his coffee forgotten. Maybe it will do her good, to finally take some responsibility, he hopes, and tries to ignore the persistent uneasy feeling in his stomach.

Over the next week everything seems to work fine. The boy follows Hanna like a shadow, kneeling at her feet during dinner, while she affectionately runs her long nails through his curls.

“Isn’t he just so adorable,” she coos and Gabriel rolls his eyes at her infatuation. The boy, though he always seems tense and on edge, startling at every sound, still looks up at Hanna with wide admiring eyes any times she reaches down to gently pet him, and so at first, Gabriel believes they’re going to be fine.

He pays them little mind, busy with work as he is, and barely notices when the boy stops trailing Hanna everywhere, no longer accompanying her to her meals. When asked, Hanna assures him everything’s fine and as the first week passes by without any scenes or problems from the new boy, Gabriel slowly allows himself to relax.

This illusion is pretty much shattered when one evening, while Gabriel’s still finishing up work in his office, there’s a knock on his door. It’s Dennis, his face drawn and tired.

“Master,” he says as he comes in. “Can I have a word with you?”

“Sure,” Gabriel points to the empty chair. Dennis’ visits to Gabriel’s study are never a good sign and worry settles in Gabriel’s stomach. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s about the boy,” Dennis starts and Gabriel appreciates him getting straight to the point. “I don’t think he’s settling in too well.”

“What do you mean?” Gabriel frowns.

“He’s just—he’s,” Dennis sighs in frustration. “I don’t know how to put it. I barely ever see him, he spends most of the time with mistress, but… He looks like shit. He _never_ eats anything with us, I don’t know _what_ he eats. I put him in a room downstairs but I don’t think he ever sleeps there. Once I caught him sleeping on the _floor_ in front of mistress’ bedroom! I tried to talk to him but he’s clearly terrified of me.”

“I see,” he says quietly. “I’ll talk to her.”

This is exactly what he didn’t want to deal with – a broken, maladjusted slave that needs constant supervision and attention. He doesn’t have time for this, running a company and all, and clearly, Hanna bit off a bit more than she can chew, too.

Maybe he just needs a bit more time to adjust, he tries to convince himself, as he walks down the hall towards Hanna’s room.

As lost in his thoughts as he is, he almost doesn’t notice him, standing inconspicuously by the wall next to Hanna’s room, his head down, arms crossed at his lower back. Gabriel takes a step closer and he goes rigid, his breath audibly picking up. Gabriel takes a gentle hold of his chin, lifting his face up, and is immediately taken aback by how utterly exhausted and frail he looks. In the dimly lit corridor, he looks almost ashen, making the dark rings all the more prominent.

“Jimmy, right?” Gabriel asks, trying to keep his voice soft so as not to spook the boy further.

“I—w-hatever master wishes to call me,” he stutters and Gabriel rolls his eyes.

“Right. And how old are you, Jimmy?”

“Seventeen, master,” the boys mutters nervously, not meeting his eyes. Damn, he really is just a kid. A terrified, skinny kid. He leaves him be and knocks on the door, giving the kid one more look as he waits for Hanna to answer, his irritation suddenly growing when he notices the boy’s still wearing the same ugly grey rags as on the first day.

“Hey, Gabe,” Hanna’s lounging in her bed, a phone in her hand.

“How’s it going with the new boy?” he asks, ignoring her when she waves at him to join her.

“Good, good,” she answers with a carefree smile that makes Gabriel’s blood boil.

“Oh yeah? So did you buy him any new clothes?”

“Well, no, not yet—”

“Did have him looked over by a doctor?”

“Why, he’s not sick—”

“Are you making sure he’s eating enough?”

“He’s not a bab—”

“Do you know where he’s sleeping?” he speaks over her and she finally puts down her phone, annoyed.

“Stop yelling at me! Jimmy’s fully capable of taking care of himself, I told him to do these things on his own. Geeze. I didn’t buy myself a _baby_ , you know?”

“You need to do better than this,” Gabriel says seriously, ignoring her put-upon face. “I told you he is your responsibility. If you want to be a slave owner, you’d better start acting like one. Take care of him or I _will_ take him away from you.”

With that he leaves, slamming the door behind him angrily. As much as he would love to stomp back to his office, he takes a breath and turns to the boy.

“You,” he snaps his finger. “Go find Dennis and tell him to find you some spare clothes. Then go the kitchen and get yourself something to eat. No, scratch that. Go find Tracy and tell her to serve you dinner,” he specifies.

Surprisingly, the boy hesitates, glancing uncertainly towards Hanna’s door. It’s only when Gabriel glares at him that he quickly scurries away.

Letting out a breath of relief when he disappears around the corner, Gabriel finally heads back to his office, hoping desperately Hanna’s finally going to take this thing seriously.

The next week passes without an incident. He stays at work late and doesn’t even see Jimmy most of the days but when he does sometimes see him quietly padding around the house, he’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt and pants, Dennis’ most likely, that make him seem even smaller and younger.

Hanna assures him she’s ordered some clothes, though, and Dennis reports that most of the days he’s been eating normal meals with them, at least once a day. And even though the older slave seems far from convinced, Gabriel is starting to grow hopeful that Hanna really was getting the hang of it.

That is until two days later when it becomes clear just how naive such hopes were. Gabriel decides to stay at home on that day, even though it’s only Thursday. He doesn’t have any meetings or pressing things to take care of and so sleeps in late, enjoying a bit of well-deserved time off.

Shortly before lunch he hears some commotion and comes down just in time to see Hanna dragging the crying, sniffling boy behind her.

“Mistress, please, I’m sorry, please, I’ll do better, please,” the boy’s frantic pleas are completely ignored as she continues to walk swiftly through the house.

“What’s going on?” Gabriel asks and they both flinch.

“Oh, Gabe – you’re home. I was just—well, I was just about to take him back.”

“You – _what?_ ”

Behind her, Jimmy takes advantage of Hanna stopping and folds to his knees, panting.

“It’s not really working out, you know? I don’t think he was the right choice for me. It was a bit of a rush decision, you were right.”

“Not working out?” Gabriel echoes, horrified.

“Yeah, it’s fine, though, I’m still within my one-month cool-off period. You’ll get a full refund.”

“You want to…—absolutely not!”

“But Gabe—”

“You are not taking him back to the auction!” he roars and Hanna’s face falls. “You are acting like the most infuriatingly irresponsible, spoilt child right now! You think you can purchase a human life and then throw him away like old socks once you grow bored of him? What the hell is wrong with you!

“Gabriel—”

“No, I’ve had it. If you can’t behave like a reasonable, responsible adult, I’m not going to treat you like one.” He furiously pulls out his phone, almost dropping in the process and opens his banking app. “From now on, I’m limiting your daily transactions on all your cards. Anything slightly more expensive will have to be approved by me. There will be no impulsive purchases anymore and don’t even _think_ I’m going to let you buy another slave ever again.”

“Gabriel!” she whines, all but stomping her foot in her frustrated anger.

“Bring me his papers, you’re going to sign him over to me,” he orders coldly, ignoring her outburst. “Now!” he shouts when she doesn’t move right away and finally she turns on her heels, stomping off. She’s back a moment later, throwing the envelope on the ground at Gabriel’s feet.

“How very mature of you,” he rolls his eyes as he picks it up. “Now get out of my sight.”

She does but not before glaring one last time at Gabriel and the slave kneeling motionlessly on floor, barely breathing. Once they’re alone, Gabriel lets out a frustrated breath, looking at the boy at his feet unhappily.

It _would_ be easier to just send him away. He hasn’t been here that long, after all. It’s not like Dennis, Dennis is part of the family by now and so is Tracy. Not to mention those two are immensely useful to him. He doesn’t need this scrawny little thing.

On the other hand, there’s no way he can send him back, not after giving Hanna a lecture on being a responsible owner. No, he’s staying whether Gabriel likes it or not. For now at least. If he’s too much trouble, he’ll find someone decent to take him off his hands later on.

“Alright,” he sighs. The boy’s now peeking up at him from behind his hair with a mix of tentative hope and a fear. “Guess I am your master for now. Get up, let me have a look at you.”

While the boy struggles to his feet, Gabriel pulls out the contract, quickly looking it over. Already the first paragraph catches his attention and he huffs.

“Your name’s Jerry, not Jimmy,” he says accusingly and Jerry starts to nervously tug at the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

“Yes, master, I- I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry for being named Jerry?” Gabriel teases but then waves his hand when the boy starts to stammer out more apologies. That’s just typical isn’t it? She couldn’t even get his name right. And it would have stuck, had she kept him. Just like that, the slave would lose his name and who cares about what’s written in the papers.

Putting the contract away for later, he turns his attention to the boy instead. How long has he been here, fourteen days? That should have been enough for him to clean up a little, maybe put on some of the much needed weight. Instead, he looks even worse than when he got here and that just makes Gabriel all pissed again. And a bit ashamed too, knowing he should have probably paid a closer attention.

“Have you eaten today?”

“No, master.”

“You know what, probably for the best. Come with me, we’re going to get you sorted out.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jerry quickly hurries to catch up with master who walks away with fast sure strides and assumes the proper position, two steps behind, slightly to the right. He has to basically trot to keep up with his pace, his exhausted, aching body protesting at every step.

The sheer relief he felt when master stopped mistress from taking him back to the auction doesn’t last long and soon fear starts to worm its way back in. It occurs to him that he has no idea what his new master is like or what he might expect of him. In his two weeks here, he only saw him a few times and only spoke to him once but it was enough to make him weak at the knees. Master was intimidating; he carried himself with such an air of authority, Jerry had no doubt he was a man that was used to being respected and obeyed.

Even now, he doesn’t even check whether Jerry’s following as he walks swiftly through the house, typing on his phone along the way.

Everything has to be better than the auction, though, right? Jerry tries to assure himself. There’s not much worse than spending 24 hours a day in a tiny grey room with nothing but a hard cot and a little toilet in the corner. He never did well in solitary. The only time he got to leave was for auction days, twice a week, and that was hardly any better, spending the whole day standing straight, equal parts hopeful and terrified that maybe today he’ll get to leave.

Master stops abruptly and Jerry quickly snaps out of his thoughts not to walk into him. They’re in the garage and master points to a sleek yellow sports car.

“Get in.”

Jerry’s heart drops. Has master changed his mind and is he taking him back after all? Master watches him expectantly and so he makes himself move. There are no doors in the back of the car, though. Surely master can’t be expecting him to sit next to him in the front, can he? Is that a trap? Is he trying to see if he knows his place?

“Oh for Christ’s sake, boy,” master sighs as he stands there, frozen in indecision, and Jerry flinches. “Get in the car. The front, yes. In the seat, not on the floor. And buckle up.”

Relieved to have clearer instructions, Jerry quickly obeys, not wanting to irk master any further. As they set off, Jerry stupidly wishes to have mistress back. He was getting used to her, learning to read her, predict her wishes and recognize her moods.

And she was not an easy mistress to have, either. She was impatient and always expected perfection, even though her orders were vague and sparse most of the times. And Jerry managed to screw up many times in his short time here. Like when she told him to stay outside her door in case she needs him. He stood there for hours until he couldn’t hold it anymore and quickly ran off to the bathroom to take a piss. Only of course that was when she went looking for him and got mad at him for not being there.

Afterwards, he started to ask for bathroom breaks preventively, drank no more than absolutely necessary and it worked fine. Jerry was determined to get better, to learn how to be useful to her. He actually liked helping around the studio, washing the brushes, sorting the supplies, scraping off old paint, it was a quiet and peaceful work. The only thing he didn’t like was posing for mistress but he suffered through it gladly when it meant mistress was pleased with him.

He really did try his best. He doesn’t even know what he did wrong. Most likely it wasn’t just one thing that he screwed up. It was just that his best wasn’t enough for mistress and she grew colder every day until today, when she dispassionately told him she’s bringing him back.

The despair of having to leave after only starting to get used to what could be his home was nothing new but that didn’t make it any easier. In his tiny cell at the auction, he used to spend many of the long boring hours daydreaming about being taken away by a kind master who wouldn’t hurt him and who would want to keep him. It was a stupid fantasy but anytime he was taken to a new place, he couldn’t help hoping that maybe, _maybe_ this was it.

Well, not all is lost yet. He was given another chance here and he’s not going to screw this up. Whatever master is going to ask from him, he will gladly give.

Even as he tries to convince himself of this, his empty stomach turns on itself in fear. Oh, he knows what men want from him. They all want the same. The thought of it makes him cold all over and incredibly angry at himself at the same time. So what if master wants to fuck him. He should be glad. It’s not that big of a deal. He’s done it and survived it before. So why can’t he stop freaking out about it?

They pull into a parking spot and Jerry anxiously looks out of the window. The initial relief at the building not being the auction is short-lived as he sees the sign on the door. A doctor’s office, his stomach sinks. Oh no, no no. He wasn’t even given a chance to maybe win master’s affection before he finds out just how damaged his is. What are his chances of master wanting to keep him then?

Or maybe master won’t mind. Maybe he’s the kind who likes to see the scars. Maybe he’s taken him here for another reason – like having him castrated. Or his vocal cords cut. Or his teeth removed. Those were the horror stories whispered among slaves late at night. That’s just what they were, though. Stories. Those things do not actually happen, do they?

“Come on, let’s get this over with,” master orders and only now does Jerry notice he’s been holding the door open for him while he’s been sitting frozen in the car, holding desperately onto the seat belt.

He stiffly follows master inside to a bright waiting room with colorful plush armchairs by the wall, a thick carpet on floor and gratingly cheerful music playing in the background. Jerry stands there by the door while master talks to the lady behind the counter, his heart trying to beat out of his chest, not reassured by the non-threatening design of the room in the slightest.

He flinches when master takes hold of his arm and leads him to one of the chairs and pushes him down to kneel next to it while he makes himself comfortable. Jerry keeps his eyes down, focusing on the abstract pattern of the carpet beneath him and doing his best to block out all the rest. Because he knows that if he allows his mind to wander anywhere farther away, like to the man next to him that is his new master or the door to the doctor’s office that may open at any moment, he’s going to freak out again.

Suddenly there’s a hand in his hair and Jerry whimpers, cringing in anticipation of pain. Only it never comes; master just keep gently combing his fingers through Jerry’s tangled hair. Jerry stays rigid, not sure what to do or what master expects of him.

“Jerry,” master says softly and Jerry briefly glances up, surprised to be met with what almost looks like a worried expression on master’s face. “No one’s going to hurt you, okay? You’re just here to get looked over to make sure you’re okay. Afterwards, we’re going back home and you can rest.”

“Thank you, master,” Jerry whispers, relaxing a little. Of course master could be lying to keep him calm but Jerry’s just too exhausted to keep worrying and shamelessly choses to believe him, clinging onto the words.

He closes his eyes, feeling the stress of the day catch up to him. Not to mention he hasn’t slept much since he got here, mistress’ irregular schedule keeping him up as she called for him at weird hours day and night. Eventually he learned it was easier to just sleep by mistress’ door to be close whenever she needed him but it was hard to find any comfortable position on the floor, as bony as he was.

Above him, master lets out a low whistle and Jerry jerks awake. “You have changed hands five times in the past six years, that’s impressive,” he says dryly and Jerry’s stomach drops when he sees he’s reading his records. “What happened?”

Jerry doesn’t answer, pulling the sleeves over his hands, fidgeting with them. A lot of things happened. It seems no matter what he does or how much he tries, one way or another he always ends up back at the auction.

He feels master watch him thoughtfully but is saved from having to answer by the door opening.

“Mr. Powell?” a short plump woman calls to them in with a smile.

Master gets up and Jerry’s heart starts to once again painfully hammer in his chest. He gets his numb, shaky legs under him and stands up too. His vision blacks out for a while and he sways, master’s strong hand immediately grabbing his arm to support him.

Jerry blinks, clearing his vision, and there it is again, a look of what almost looks like concern on master’s face as he leads him inside, his hand on his lower back.

“Thanks for squeezing us in, doc,” master shakes the older man’s hand while Jerry keeps his eyes trained on master’s shoes.

“No problem at all. Who do you have here, then?”

“This is Jerry. He’s… new. Newish. We’ve had him for about two weeks but I need to have him looked over.”

Jerry startles violently when something brushes his arm, stumbling back, almost tipping over a little cart on wheels with different instruments that clatter loudly. It’s just the nurse though, smiling at him kindly.

“Jumpy, is he?” the doctor grumbles, and Jerry feels his face turn red.

“Come here, honey,” the nurse’s smile doesn’t falter and she leads him further into the room. “Hop on the scale for me, would you?”

She weights him and measures him, noting both numbers on a piece of paper, and then hands him a small plastic cup.

“Toilet’s that way,” she points out to him. “Leave the cup on the shelf, you’ll see where.”

“I-I don’t need to…,” he stammers, turning even a brighter shade of red.

“Oh, it’s alright, even a little is fine,” she pats his arm gently, giving him an encouraging smile. Reluctantly, Jerry heads to the indicated door. There’s a lock on the inside and for a while he’s tempted to use it. It takes him a long time to produce at least something to leave on the shelf and he’s sweating by the time he makes it back.

“That’s quite a track record you have here, boy,” the doctor says disapprovingly, tapping his finger on Jerry’s file lying on the table and Jerry hangs his head in shame. He knows how bad it looks to have had so many masters at such a young age. But he’s also painfully aware just how empty and stupid it would sound to say it wasn’t his fault and so he stays quiet.

“Alright, take off your clothes and sit on the table,” the doctor orders, pointing to a white padded table in the middle of the room and Jerry freezes all over again. Unable to help himself, he clutches at the borrowed sweatshirt and looks pleadingly towards master, who only leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, and raises his eyebrows expectantly.

Right. No help coming from there. Gritting his teeth, he pulls the shirt off with his shaking hands and steps out of his pants.

Behind him, there’s a sharp inhale of breath and Jerry self-consciously hunches on himself. Oh, he hates this so much—baring himself in front of these two strangers to gawk at him, it adds a whole new level of vulnerability and Jerry feels his eyes prickle.

He can’t make himself take off his underwear too and so he leaves it on as he sits gingerly on the table, the leather cold under his naked thighs. He carefully avoids looking up; the last he wants to see now is master’s disgusted face.

After a moment of stunned silence, master walks to him wordlessly, circling him and then gently running his finger over one of the scars on his back.

“What happened?”

“It says here,” the doctor flips a page of Jerry’s file, “he was punished for stealing.”

“I didn’t mean to steal it,” Jerry mutters through his clenched teeth, then immediately regrets it. What’s the point. He must have said about a hundred times by now and has yet to find someone who’d believe him.

“Is that so?” master asks curiously. He’s now walked around him and is holding Jerry’s hands in his, inspecting his scarred wrists.

“I found the ring in the grass and put it in my pocket. I meant to bring it back but I got called off and then forgot about it. I didn’t want to steal it. I didn’t mean to,” he sniffs. Even after all this time, he never got over the injustice of it all.

“Hm,” master frowns. “I take it they didn’t believe you?”

Jerry shakes his head miserably. That evening, a maid found mistress’ lost diamond ring in the pocket of Jerry’s pants in the laundry and all hell broke loose. Master completely ignored Jerry’s desperate begging and assurances that he meant to bring the ring back, yelling at him to stop with the stupid excuses. He was furious; he tied him to a post a whipped him so hard Jerry was convinced he’s going kill him. He didn’t, though, and not long after that Jerry got dropped back at the auction house, only this time he ended in the damaged section and with theft recorded in his papers.

Master clucks his tongue disapprovingly, taking a step back.

“Doc, I need you to document the state of him and write me a report, I’m going to file a complaint for excessive—”

He’s interrupted by the nurse barging back in, stomping angrily across the room towards Jerry. She thrusts a bottle of water in his hands and he looks at it, dumbfounded.

“You need to drink this, love, okay?” she says kindly and then turns to master, her voice turning as cold as ice. “You had him for _fourteen days_? The kid’s severely dehydrated! You do know that food and water are basic rights of slaves and I could report to the authorities right now…”

“Jenny, enough,” the doctor snaps at her, giving master an apologetic smile as he leads her away, where they start arguing in hushed voices.

Master groans unhappily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry, master,” Jerry mutters, not bothering to explain he was just didn’t want to bother mistress with asking for a bathroom break too often. Master’s looking very displeased and Jerry hugs himself as he starts shivering from the cold draft on his naked skin. Why can’t he stop screwing things up?

“It’s fine,” master sighs tersely and then points to the bottle. “You heard her, drink.”

All Jerry manages is a small gulp through his parched throat into his uneasy stomach before the doctor’s back.

“I apologize, Mr. Powell, she’s new. Now, where were we?”

Jerry has no idea how he survived the rest of the exam. There was a lot of prodding and picture taking and questions that made his face turn bright red, though nothing as much as when the doctor ordered him to take off his underwear. The only thing that kept him from freaking out completely at that point was master’s grounding presence by his side and the promise of going back home afterwards that he repeated in his head like a mantra.

At least the doctor was quick and efficient and that part was over before Jerry could get himself too worked up. As a reward, master handed him back his clothes and the hastily put them on, a fraction of the tension leaving him at being covered again. He could do with three more extra layers at that moment but it had to do.

Finally, they took at least 5 vials of blood for various tests and they were free to go. Only once they’re back in the car does Jerry take in what feels like the first free breath in hours.

“There, see? All done. You did very well,” master pats his thigh affectionally. Jerry ducks his head shyly, unable to suppress the smile that tugs at his lips.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you had nice, relaxing holidays!

Jerry follows Dennis meekly down the stairs, his uncomfortably full stomach churning. After they got back from the doctor, master dumped Jerry on the older slave with a curt order to ‘take care of him’ before he disappeared inside the house.

Surprisingly enough, Dennis hasn’t seemed too annoyed. Even when Jerry couldn’t finish more than half of what he served him, he just took the plate away, dismissing his apologies with a wave a of his hand.

“This is your room,” Dennis holds the door open for him. “This is where you sleep. In the _bed_ ,” he emphasizes, giving Jerry a stern look and he feels his face turn red. Of course he was already told to sleep here but he found out it was just easier to camp by mistress’ door. If he were to choose between angering Dennis and mistress, well… that wasn’t really a question.

Though things will be different now, it seems. Again. He now belongs to master and it’s pretty clear Dennis is something like his right hand. He’s not _exactly_ sure about the hierarchy here but it’s not that hard to guess he’s at the very bottom of it.

“Yes, sir,” Jerry nods and Dennis’ face softens.

“Get some rest, I’ll come get you later.”

As he turns to leave, Jerry quickly gathers the courage to speak up, knowing the uncertainty would otherwise drive him crazy.

“Wait, um—Sir? Do you know what—what my duties will be?” he asks, doing his best to keep his voice from shaking.

Dennis pauses, giving a thoughtful look. “You don’t have to call me sir. Dennis is fine,” he says softly. “And for now, your task is to rest and get better.”

Jerry nods miserably even as his stomach plummets. Either Dennis doesn’t know what to do with him or he knows exactly what master has in store and just doesn’t want to tell him. Jerry’s not sure which is more terrifying.

Heaving a soft sigh, it seems the older slave takes pity on him because he steps inside, closing the door. He sits in the single chair there is and gestures for Jerry to sit on the bed. This puts them face to face with just enough space between them that their legs aren’t touching.

“What _can_ you do? Do you have any skills?” he asks and Jerry straightens. Oh, so this is like an interview! His chance to show he can earn his keep, hopefully in any other way than in master’s bed.

“Um. I can—I can do a lot. I mean, I can work. Manually, I mean. I’m not lazy, whatever you want – I can… I could….” He’s so nervous his heart is hammering painfully in his chest and he can’t seem to string together a coherent sentence. Dennis is looking at him with something akin pity and Jerry wants to cry.

“Okay, tell me this. What did you do for your previous masters?”

“I took care of the farm animals,” is the first thing he thinks of and then cringes, realizing just how irrelevant that is. It’s not like there are any cows to milk here or stalls to be mucked.

To his credit, Dennis doesn’t mock him. Instead, he nods seriously. “That must have been hard work.”

Jerry nods, letting out a breath of relief. It _was_ a lot of work but he didn’t mind. He grew up on the farm, it was the only kind of home he knew. And even though he never met his mother who died at childbirth, the other slaves were like family to him. And while master was strict and sometimes short-tempered, he wasn’t cruel. Sure, if he caught someone slacking, they were sure to get the strap, but Jerry never had to worry about that. He worked hard and always finished his chores quickly in order to steal a bit more time to take care of the plants in the garden.

Spending time hands deep in dirt was by far his fondest memory from his childhood and the intensity of the longing he feels when thinking back to the simpler times still takes him by surprise.

“What else?” Dennis asks gently and Jerry quickly shakes the memories off.

“I… did a bit of babysitting,” he offers, conveniently skipping the almost year he spent with his second master. He barely ever thought about that; in fact, most of the time he successfully managed to block it out completely.

He was twelve when the draught hit them hard. The harvest was pitiful and on top of that, most of their stock died of some disease that year. Jerry didn’t understand how bad the situation was, didn’t know why everyone looked so worried all the time.

It didn’t click until one evening master came home with a stranger and told Jerry to pack his things. Later on he found out the man paid enough for master to cover his losses _and_ buy a new tractor.

Oftentimes he wondered if master knew what place he sent him to. He must have, though. It was only Jerry that was completely naïve and sheltered. He was just a stupid kid. He didn’t even know sex could work that way. Or _hurt_ that way. The first time it happened, he couldn’t even comprehend what was happening.

Jerry shudders, quickly shutting the memories off. After about a year, master fortunately tired of him and gave him to his sister to help out with her kids.

“That’s nice,” Dennis smiles encouragingly even as Jerry deflates, feeling more and more useless by the minute. There are no kids here. Why did he even mention it? “How old were they?”

“A toddler and a teenager,” Jerry answers. Of course, Dan, the boy, was two years older than Jerry so there wasn’t much he did for him other than prepare meals and clean up his messy room. The little girl was sweet though, and a fond smile plays at his lips just thinking about her. Pity it didn’t last long. After Dan broke his game controller in a fit of rage and then blamed Jerry for it, he was back at the auction.

“I also helped an elderly couple around the house – shopping, cleaning, cooking, whatever they needed,” he says softly, his throat closing up at the memory. Leaving those two was the hardest. Well, no, leaving the farm was probably the hardest but this was close second.

They were in their seventies and while master was a grumpy and irritable, she—she was the sweetest old lady. She treated him more like a grandson than a slave and it was for the first time since leaving the farm that he felt home, as stupid as it sounds.

And it _was_ stupid. Stupid to hope it would last. After six months, there was some kind of family emergency – Jerry didn’t know what exactly, but they decided to move the other side of the world to be with mistress’ daughter. Master didn’t want to drag him with them – only the cost of the flight ticket would be more than he’s worth, he said – but mistress insisted. They had a huge fight during which none of them refused to budge and then went to sleep to separate rooms.

It was that night that master woke him up at the break of dawn and ordered him to get in the car. He drove him three hours to an auction two towns away while Jerry cried and begged in the back seat. It was of no use, of course, and he ended in small cell not unlike those he knew from other auction houses with nothing but his despairing thoughts.

For some time he still hoped she would find him and bring him back but it was naïve. Two weeks later he was bought by his last master, where he spent the past two years before the accident with the ring. As bad as the whipping was, it was probably for the best because it landed him up back at the auction. He doesn’t know how long he’d be able to hold out at that place without breaking down completely. The man was vicious and a drunk on top of that. All the slaves were terrified of him and his unexpected mood swings. When he came down to the slave barracks, no one ever knew if he was about to beat or fuck one of them half to death, though they sure all wished it wasn’t _them_.

“I guess I don’t have any skills as such,” Jerry admits dejectedly. “But… I can learn! I’ve done a lot of work around the house – I know how to pull my weight, sir—Dennis—I swear.”

“Okay,” Dennis gets up. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” he gives him a tight smile and there’s something worrying about look on his face. “Now you should probably go lie down for a bit, okay? I’ll be back later.”

Not feeling any more reassured, Jerry still obeys, curling on the bed with his back pressed against the wall, and despite the whirlwind of worries in his head, he falls asleep almost immediately.

When nothing happens over the next week, Jerry allows himself a tiny bit of hope. Maybe master really isn’t interested in him. Why would he be? A man like him, he could have anyone he wants. He could have the best pleasure slaves there are – he sure as hell could afford them, judging from the lavish house.

He spends his days trailing Dennis who clearly decided to keep him under close scrutiny. He picks him up from his room and brings him to the kitchen where he watches him eat. He checks how much he drinks. Tells him when to take a shower or go relax and read or watch the tv. After the upheaval of the past few weeks, Jerry is unspeakably grateful for having clear instructions for once. And it’s easy too – it feels like all he does is sleep and eat or sit at the table and watch Dennis or Tracy work.

They don’t let him help out yet but it’s fine. Jerry gets it – he’s to observe how things are done here so that he doesn’t bother them with stupid questions afterwards. It’s a good strategy and Jerry makes sure to note every small detail, from which cream Dennis uses to polish master’s shoes to which slot Tracy puts which knife in the knife block.

He only sees master in passing a few times and he doesn’t spare him more than a cursory look. Jerry doesn’t complain, though. He’d be only too happy if he were completely ignored by master. He still hasn’t ruled out the possibility that master’s going to want him in his bed but with every passing day when he doesn’t call him into the bedroom, tentative hope forms in his chest.

He does run into mistress once. It’s about a week after her attempt to return him when she comes into the kitchen where he’s once again sitting at the table. She grabs something from the fridge, a mirthless smirk playing on her lips when she sees him.

“So you’re still here, huh?”

Jerry hangs his head, heart in his throat as he sees her stalk closer from the corner of his eye. At the same time, he’s acutely aware of Dennis openly watching them from where he is leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, and it somehow feels reassuring.

“You know he only let you stay to spite me, right? He doesn’t _need_ you and soon enough you’ll be out of here,” she sneers before storming out of the room, the clicking of her heels following her.

Once her footsteps fade, Jerry lets out a shaky breath, swallowing his tears. Then there’s a hand on his shoulder and he jumps but it’s only Tracy, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly, giving him a sad smile.

“Don’t listen to her,” Dennis scoffs. “I’ll talk to master.”

Jerry gives him a hopeful look even as fear grips his stomach. “Thank you,” he says softly.

In the end, Dennis doesn’t even get the chance to do that as only a few hours later, he is called up to the bedroom.

\--°°--

It’s been a week since their trip to the doctor and Gabriel hasn’t spoken to the boy once since then. He was busy with work but he also wanted to give him some time to settle in, _again_ , and to find his feet. And he’s confident he’s in good hands with Dennis. Better than his sister’s, he thinks bitterly.

Now it was probably time to check on the boy, though. And while he _has_ been busy, he has also been stalling, avoiding him a bit on purpose. At this point, he’s most likely not doing him any good though and while Jerry’s probably enjoying the respite and time to rest, he’s going to get restless soon without a clear purpose here.

Gabriel types a quick text to Dennis to send the boy up and waits. Not a minute later, there’s a shy knock on the door and Gabriel calls him in.

The boy stands stop just by the door, not lifting his eyes from the ground. He’s wearing a simple black pants and long-sleeved shirt, clearly better fitting than the hand-me-downs he wore earlier, so it seems the ordered clothes finally arrived.

Even from where he’s sitting on the bed, Gabriel can see how nervous he is, the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the slight tremor in his hands betraying him even as he keeps his face blank.

“How have been settling in, good?” he asks, trying to keep his voice friendly, hoping to calm him down a bit.

“Yes, master,” Jerry nods eagerly, his back still plastered against the door.

“Do you have enough to eat and drink?”

“Yes, master, thank you, master.” Another eager nod.

“Do you have something you want to ask me?” Gabriel offers him the opportunity to speak up and the boy hesitates, biting his lip before giving a small shake of his head.

“Come here,” he says mildly, patting the bed next to him. Jerry goes rigid and then slowly drags himself closer, perching himself on the edge of the bed, as far from Gabriel as possible. If he were to scoot any further, he’d slide right off.

“It’s alright,” Gabriel says soothingly, hoping to put some of the boy’s nerves to rest. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He moves closer, ignoring the way the boy goes tense, and takes a gentle hold of his chin. Jerry flinches but doesn’t fight him when Gabriel lifts his face.

“Look at you,” Gabriel smiles and uses his other hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “You really did clean up nicely.”

He’s still skinny and delicate, but at least he doesn’t look as gaunt and exhausted as only a week ago. His blonde hair is clean and shiny, falling in unruly curls around his round face and while he is still pale, the unhealthy ashen color is gone. His blue eyes, large and slightly terrified, are not as sunken as he remembers and it makes him look even younger.

A bit too young, maybe, Gabriel hesitates. But he is pretty, Gabriel can’t deny that. Pretty in a way that makes his dick stir.

He lets go of him, giving him space.

“Did your previous masters use you for pleasure?” he asks gently. Of course he already knows the answer, as the doctor briefly asked about it. That’s also why he had the STD tests done.

“Yes, master,” Jerry answers softly and there’s a weird look of resignation on his face.

“How old were you?” Gabriel presses for details.

“Twelve, master.”

“Twelve?” Gabriel raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Were you trained in pleasure?” It’s not uncommon for pleasure slaves to start training really young in specialized houses though they cannot be sold until they are fifteen. It’s technically against the law to have sex with a slave under this age limit though it comes as no surprise that it happens.

“N-no, master, not really,” the boy shakes his head miserably.

“Hm,” Gabriel hums, watching the boy thoughtfully. Clearly he didn’t have the best experience with sex so far but he’s still young and malleable. Gabriel could teach him. Show him that serving him in bed is nothing to be terrified of.

He must admit, the idea of having his own pleasure slave, someone to mold and shape, is very appealing. It’s not something he’d go out of his way to get – he wouldn’t buy one himself, but since Jerry’s already here… It is very tempting.

It’s clear that he’s going to have to take it slow with him, though. The boy next to him is still practically hyperventilating with fear, taut as a bow string and looking like he’s ready to bolt at any moment.

His mind made up, he toes off his shoes and sits up on the bed. There’s always more work to do. He’ll answer a few emails while the boy can cuddle close – it will be good to at least start getting him used to his presence and to his touch.

“Come here,” he says, holding his hand invitingly.

To his surprise, Jerry jumps off the bed and takes a startled step back.

“Master, please,” he pleads, his voice on the verge of tears.

“It’s okay,” Gabriel says soothingly, suppressing his annoyance. He understands the boy’s nervous but he hates repeating himself. “I said I’m not going to hurt you. Now come _here_.”

He gets up from the bed, planning to take the boy’s hand and guide him to sit by his side on the bed while he works, but the moment he takes a step towards him, Jerry scurries back until his back hits the wall.

“Please,” he whispers shaking his head desperately. He looks like a trapped animal, his eyes flicking fearfully around the room as if looking for a way out. “Please, don’t.” He really is hyperventilating now, his eyes blown wide and glistening with tears.

“I won’t,” Gabriel promises gently, worry now warring with his annoyance. Once again he reaches for him and it seems to be the last straw. Jerry’s legs buckle under his and he slides to the ground. Once there, he doesn’t miss a beat and crawls away, cramming himself into a tight space behind the armchair, in the corner of the room, where he curls into a tight ball, burying his face in his knees.

“Jerry!” Gabriel snaps. “Come out of here.” He reaches behind the armchair and Jerry loses it altogether. In sheer panic the boy starts to kick at him, fighting with all his strength, which—admittedly—isn’t much, while sobbing his broken “ _please, don’t_ ” all over again like a broken record.

Gabriel takes a few steps back, horrified, his heart is beating in chest, and then turns on his heel and leaves the room. A short way down the corridor he runs into Tracy who takes one look at him and her face immediately clouds with worry.

“Get Jerry calmed down and then into his room,” he snaps at her, not slowing down until he reaches his office where he bangs the door shut behind him.

Fucking hell, he curses as he paces the large room restlessly. This is so much worse than he thought. The boy’s completely traumatized and now he only made it worse. Immediately he scratches the even the faintest idea of trying to make him his bed slave. There is absolutely nothing appealing to him about fucking a terrified, crying slave.

The fucking monsters _,_ he seethes. Such a sweet, pretty boy and they ruined him. He doesn’t feel much better than _them_ right now, though. Jerry definitely doesn’t think he is, anyway. For him he is just like them.

With a grunt he stops his agitated pacing and plops on the couch, rubbing hands over his face. He’s _not_ a monster, he tries to convince himself. He’s not. He’s been nothing but patient and kind with the boy. He cares about the well-being of his slaves. And he can be a generous lover, making sure they both enjoy it, and he most definitely would never _hurt_ one of his slaves like this.

It takes a long time for him to calm down. He’s not ready to go out and face anyone just yet, though, so he sits at his table and turns the computer on, hoping to lose himself in work for at least a few hours.

It’s dark outside when he finally makes himself leave the office. He’s vaguely aware that he missed dinner but he’s not really hungry. He still feels like shit. Evil and disgusting and he can’t get the way Jerry looked at him, all terrified and desperate, out of his mind.

It’s completely on autopilot that he lets his legs take him downstairs but he’s not really surprised when he finds himself in front of Dennis’ room. He knocks sharply, not waiting for a reply before entering the room.

It must be later than he realized because Dennis is already in bed, though he’s still on his tablet, reading something. He raises his eyebrows in surprise when he sees Gabriel and slowly sits up, folding his reading glasses and gently putting them away on the nightstand.

It’s been a long time since he last came down here. Suddenly he’s bone-tired and feeling foolish. He feels like a horny teenager again, stealing into Dennis’ room in the middle of the night for a bit of fun. Though now more than anything else he craves a bit of affection and closeness.

He shouldn’t have come here. He’s about to leave but Dennis is already out of bed and he takes Gabriel’s hands in his and gently leads him to the bed.

He doesn’t resist and lets Dennis push him down on the bed. Dennis straddles and when he leans close, Gabriel meets his mouth in a kiss They don’t talk, the sound of their breathless kiss the only sound in the small room.

Eventually Dennis pulls away but only to quickly shed of his pajamas and Gabriel takes a moment to appreciate his lean form. Even at his age, he lost nothing of his natural beauty. The few grey strands in his dark hair only add to his charm. His warm brown eyes, framed by crow’s feet, are watching him openly without a hint of hesitation.

With a playful smile, Dennis slowly sinks to his knees between Gabriel’s legs and undoes his pants. Letting his head fall back, Gabriel closes his eyes and enjoys the wet warmth of Dennis’ skillful mouth.

He reaches down, running his fingers through his hair affectionately and Dennis’ eyes flick up to him, looking pitch black in the low light. Suddenly needy and impatient, he yanks him back up onto the bed, pushing him on his back. He takes Dennis’ cock in his hand, stroking him to full hardness, as he blindly fumbles in the drawer of the night stand with his other hand.

“The other drawer—no, the bottom one,” Dennis tells him, breathless, and finally Gabriel’s fingers find the little bottle of lube.

Carefully, he works his lubed fingers inside Dennis, while continuing to slowly stroke his dick. Soon enough, Dennis is panting, writhing impatiently under him.

“Oh fuck, Gabriel,” he breathes out and Gabriel growls low in his throat. Not wasting any more time, he buries himself deep into Dennis in one strong thrust.

He doesn’t hold himself back, then, fucking Dennis until the narrow bed bangs against the wall. He doesn’t even know who came first but soon enough they both lie in bed, spent and exhausted, Dennis resting his head on Gabriel’s shoulder.

As nice as the distraction was, it doesn’t last long. As soon as his breath calms down, the pleasure is replaced with worry again and he sighs.

“I fucked up today, didn’t I?” he says quietly into the darkness and beside him, Dennis huffs softly. He doesn’t ask what Gabriel’s talking about, only runs his hand up and down his chest mindlessly.

“Not necessarily,” he says quietly after a while, rising on his elbow to look Gabriel in the eyes. “Do you plan to keep him?”

“Of course I will keep him,” Gabriel snaps, indignant. “You think I would send him back there?”

“Are you going to make him your bed slave?” Dennis asks seriously, ignoring his question.

“No. No, I’m not.”

A bit of the tension eases from Dennis’ face and he gives a small nod of approval. “Well then you have to tell him that. Tell him what will be expected from him, what his duties will be.”

“Right,” Gabriel deflates. “I’ll talk to him.”

“And sooner rather than later. I can assure you the boy’s worrying himself sick right now,” Dennis says, reproach clear in his voice.

“I will. First thing in the morning.”

He doesn’t think he could deal with him right now. With a sigh, he pecks one more kiss on top of Dennis’ head before getting out of the bed.

“How can you sleep in this?” he groans, already feeling sore from the hard unyielding mattress.

“I like it,” Dennis rolls his eyes. “It’s good for my back.”

“I’ll buy you a new bed. Something nice and soft.”

“Don’t you dare,” Dennis narrows his eyes and Gabriel chuckles.

“Fine, suit yourself.”

They both get redressed in silence, lost in thought.

“Good night, Dennis,” Gabriel says softly as he’s about to leave the room.

“Good night, master.”


	4. Chapter 4

Jerry feels like he’s going to die. He desperately gasps for breath as his throat closes up and his vision starts to swim. His heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s going to burst any moment. It doesn’t even register that the hands grabbing at him, dragging him out, have disappeared and he’s alone again until he hears steps coming back, stopping just a short distance from him.

“Jerry?” comes a voice and it feels weirdly from afar, as if he’s swimming deep under water. “Jerry!”

He blinks and finally gets his eyes to focus. “Tracy?” he croaks out, surprised. “What are you—but—where’s master?”

“He’s gone.”

“Oh no. No, no, no,” he mutters desperately, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes to stop the new tears from falling. He screwed up. He screwed up so bad! It’s been a long time since he had a panic attack like this. Now out of all of the times, too! He had a chance to secure his place here, to please master and he blew it. What the hell is wrong with him! Out of all the masters that fucked him, Jerry was pretty sure this one would be the gentlest and now he fucking blew it!

“It’s okay,” Tracy says gently. Luckily she doesn’t try to touch him or drag him out, she just settles on the floor, her back against the wall.

“No, it’s not!” Jerry fists his hands in his hair, tugging hard. “Nothing’s okay!”

She doesn’t argue, doesn’t offer any more false reassurances, only sits in silence and waits. It takes a long time but eventually, Jerry’s erratic breathing slows down a bit, exhaustion and resignation taking over. He lets his hands fall away, giving Tracy an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“What for?” she smiles gently.

“For—keeping you. I’m sure you have other things to do than sit on the floor with me.”

“Oh, love, you don’t worry about that. I’ll stay here with you as long as you need. Master can make himself instant ramen noodles for dinner for all I care. And besides, this is nothing. I once sat crouched behind a couch for nearly four hours,” she chuckles.

“You did?” Jerry sniffles, wiping at his eyes. He could really use a distraction to take his mind from his shitty situation right now. “What happened?”

“I was tidying up mistress’ bedroom and when I bent to pick up something from the floor by the couch, I saw a naked man hiding behind it. It was mistress’ lover, they were interrupted by master arriving sooner than expected. He pulled me behind the couch, clearly he didn’t trust me that I wouldn’t run to master. We sat there for the whole afternoon until master left for his usual evening golf. You know how awkward that was? He was some kind of a big animal, a politician I think, sitting butt-naked next to a household slave,” she laughs and despite himself, Jerry finds himself smiling along, her cheerful laughter infectious.

“Did he get caught?”

“No—once master was gone, he quickly left too. I didn’t tell on him, I couldn’t care less about mistress’ affairs.”

“Did you get in trouble?”

“No, on the contrary,” she chuckles. “Any time he came afterwards, he would bring a little something for me. A box of chocolates, fresh strawberries, something like that.”

“How did you end up here, then?” Jerry asks after a while, his smile slipping away.

“I was given to mistress’ son, as a wedding gift,” she snorts. “It was a not-so-subtle jab at her daughter-in-law and her cooking abilities. Those two hated each other, let me tell you. She was furious and put me up for sale immediately for a ridiculously low price, as an insult to her mother-in-law, of course. I was so lucky I was picked up by master, otherwise who knows where I would have ended up.”

They fall silent for a moment and Jerry feels the despair creeping back in. “I just—I can’t do this anymore,” Jerry admits hollowly. He can’t. The whole thing – going back to the auction, the hope, the uncertainty and then the harsh reality. It’s never going to get better. There is no happy ending for him.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, hm?” Tracy says softly. “We’ll take it one step at a time. And right now, the next step is to get you downstairs, I’ll make you something to eat and a nice cup of hot chocolate and then you’ll go rest to your room. That doesn’t sound that bad, does it?”

“No,” Jerry smiles sadly and slowly uncurls his stiff leg. Tracy’s right. He can’t think too ahead or he’ll go crazy. Step one, get out of his hiding spot and stop acting like a baby. Whatever comes later, he’ll deal with it as best as he can. It’s not like he has a choice, anyway.

He follows her listlessly down the stairs, his heart still beating nervously, anticipating master to appear any moment. He’s nowhere to be seen, though, and the kitchen’s empty too, for which Jerry’s immensely grateful.

Just a short time later Tracy places a cup of deliciously smelling, steaming hot chocolate in front of him, together with a blueberry muffin. The chocolate tastes like nothing he ever had before and he makes a noise of surprise as soon as he takes the first careful sip.

“Good, right?” Tracy chuckles.

“That’s… are you sure I’m allowed this?” he asks nervously, even as he savors the rich, creamy flavor. Back home at the farm they got to drink hot chocolate as a special treat on Christmas but it was the cheap one with chemical aftertaste and they had to use one portion for like five cups to have enough to go around.

“You definitely are today.”

“Right,” Jerry says softly, sagging miserably. Does Tracy want him to have something nice before he’s off to the auction? Well, he’s not going to waste it, he decides as he stuffs his mouth with the muffin.

“So do you wanna know about the time I caught master’s secret lover?” she asks cheerfully and he gives her a grateful smile, as she starts talking without waiting for his answer.

He manages to keep his thoughts on the story while he eats but once he’s back in his quiet room, the fear and anxiety come crashing back. He lies petrified in his bed, barely breathing as he listens for the sound of master’s steps, about to drag him from his room and take him back. At one point he hears something, though he’s not completely sure it’s master. His heart immediately goes into overdrive but as the minutes drag on, he realizes whoever it was is not coming to his room.

The night seems to go on forever. He keeps tossing and turning, alternating between being scared out of his mind and completely numb and resigned. Eventually he must have fallen asleep as he’s woken up by a knock on his door.

“Jerry?” Dennis asks and Jerry groans. It’s become a sort of a routine for Dennis to pick him up and then head to eat breakfast together but Jerry finds he doesn’t have the energy, mental or physical, to get out of bed.

“I’m not hungry,” he calls and then throws the cover over his head. What’s the point, anyway. He’ll just stay here until someone comes drag him out.

“Master wants to see you in his study,” Jerry makes out Dennis’ words, muffled by the blanket over his ears, and sits up in alarm. He stumbles out of the bed so fast his feet tangle in his cover and he almost lands face first on the floor.

“What did he say?” he asks, breathlessly, as soon as he opens the door, his heart hammering painfully in his chest.

“Not much, just to send you up. But don’t worry, it’s nothing bad,” the older slave gives him an encouraging smile.

His heart flutters with hope almost painfully. He quickly runs his finger through his messy hair, trying to make himself presentable. Has master decided to give him another shot at this? He’ll do so much better today, he knows it! He was just… caught off-guard yesterday. He doesn’t normally freak out like this and he’s going to prove it to master.

Still, he’s almost nauseous with fear as he hurries up the stairs to master’s office. Once there, he takes a moment to calm his panting breath.

“Come in,” comes master’s voice when he knocks and Jerry nervously steps inside. He’s never been inside master’s office, though Dennis showed him which door it is so that he could avoid it. Jerry doesn’t dare admire the lavish, bright room, keeping his eyes down as he takes a few steps towards master, stopping a polite distance from his desk.

“Look at me, Jerry,” master orders softly and Jerry forces his eyes up. He keeps his gaze somewhere on master’s nose, unable to really meet his eyes. 

“I think we can agree that we need to talk about yesterday,” he starts gently.

“I apologize for my behavior, master. It was unacceptable and—” he says breathlessly. “And it won’t ever happen again. I will serve you whichever way you want. I promise I will do better!”

He takes a deep breath through his nose and focuses on staying still, letting go of his sleeves that he was fidgeting with. He’s so nervous he’s practically vibrating on the spot and he curses himself. He needs to prove master that he won’t break down crying anytime he tries to touch him and right now, he’s not being very convincing!

“No,” master says not unkindly but resolutely. “I don’t want you to serve me in bed.”

Jerry’s heart plummets all the way down to his stomach and his head swims. But… Dennis said it’s nothing bad! How is master rejecting him not bad? If he doesn’t want him, then… Then it’s back to the auction. Did Dennis not know or did he lie? Did he just tell him that to keep him calm? He feels a stab of betrayal at the thought.

“Master, please,” he whispers desperately, not ready to give up. “If you could just give me another chance, I’d—”

“You will not be used as a bed slave here. Not now, not in the future,” he interrupts him and his voice is hard, brooking absolutely no argument. A bottomless pit opens in Jerry’s stomach, threatening to swallow him. His master is saying something more but Jerry can’t hear him over the pounding of blood in his ears.

“Jerry?” Master stands up and walks around the table. He’s looking at him with a concerned frown and Jerry feels like he’s missing something. “Did you hear what I just said?”

“Yes, master,” he says quietly. His eyes sting but he doesn’t want to cry in front of master. Again. “You said you don’t want me.”

“That’s—no. I said you will stay here as a house slave – you will be helping Dennis and Tracy wherever they need you to. They will assign you chores each day and you will obey them. Understood?”

“I—what?” Jerry says stupidly, struggling to get his panicked brain to focus. The world shifts again and the terror he felt just a few seconds ago morphs into a tentative hope so fast it gives him whiplash. “I mean, yes, master,” he finally gets out but it’s a more an automatic reply than anything.

“Right,” master says, still not too convinced. “If you have any questions at all, talk to Dennis or to me. I will be checking on you later.”

Jerry stays frozen on the spot, too late realizing that this was his clue to leave. With a soft sigh, master puts a hand at Jerry’s lower back and guides him out of the office. He doesn’t stop there, though; instead he goes with him all the way down to the ground floor, while Jerry tries to get his muddled brain to wrap around his new reality.

“Dennis!” master calls and the dark-haired slave appears almost immediately. “Here—” he gently pushes Jerry towards him and only lets go once Dennis has a steadying hand on his arm. “He’s a bit out of it, I think. Let him take a half-day off and then get him started on his duties, won’t you?”

“Of course, master.”

With that he walks away, leaving Jerry, who’s still reeling, behind.

“Hungry for breakfast now?” Dennis asks. Jerry takes in the first free breath in what feels like forever, only now realizing he’s starving.

“I could eat,” he smiles shyly.

Dennis claps his hand on Jerry’s shoulder and together they head to the kitchen.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I wanted was to write a tiny bit of bonding between Jerry and Dennis and Tracy and I ended up with this 4k-word chapter.... Oh, well.

With hope pumping new strength into his veins, Jerry is determined to make this work.

The next day, he is so excited and nervous he can barely sleep. He’s all up and ready before dawn and waiting by the door. He opens the door before Dennis even gets the chance to knock.

“Well, good morning,” the older slave takes a step back, surprised.

“Good morning, Dennis,” Jerry gives a shy smile.

“You’re up early,” Dennis smiles. “Ready for breakfast?”

“I already ate– I, uh – got myself an apple from the kitchen. I’m all ready for work,” he says eagerly. He’s just really excited to finally get to do something useful – he’s worked all his life, that’s all he knows, that’s how he stays alive and safe – by being useful to his master. And the past week with nothing but waiting and uncertainty, it has been somehow more exhausting than any work could ever be.

“Alright, no,” Dennis shakes his head disapprovingly and Jerry’s stomach flips with shame. _Already_ he’s making Dennis unhappy with him? “That’s not how it is here. We sit down to eat breakfast together, and _then_ get to work.”

His face softens when Jerry hangs his head and he puts an arm around his shoulder as he leads him out of the room.

“It’s not like you’re going to impress master by starting to work an hour earlier than the rest of us. He won’t notice or he’ll just get mad. Come on, let’s eat.”

He tries not to sulk as he at least helps set up the table while doing his best not to get under Tracy’s feet.

“Have master and mistress eaten yet?” Dennis asks Tracy, as he loads himself a plate and Jerry stops and listens. From what he’s seen so far, master and mistress’ schedules were pretty erratic. Most of the times master would get up earlier than any of them and be off to work, but sometimes he came downstairs for breakfast before leaving. The same with mistress – on some days it wasn’t until noon that she emerged from her room and sometimes she was there at half past six, demanding her breakfast to be served.

“No, not yet.”

“Good. Jerry’s going to be serving today,” Dennis decides and Jerry feels his heart pick up. It’s fine, he knows how to serve food, he reassures himself. He’s done it countless times for his last master and there, even the slightest mistake would get him caned bloody.

They don’t have to wait for master to come down and it seems today is one of the days mistress decides to join him, her shrill voice carrying from the dining room.

Wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, Jerry quickly and efficiently loads the tray with a coffee pot, as well as several plates with fresh bread and a selection of cheeses and hams and vegetables, freshly made scrambled eggs and plate with fried bacon. It’s like a small two-person buffet, really.

“Oh, great,” mistress huffs as soon as he enters, the tray carefully hoisted on his shoulder.

“Hanna,” master says warningly.

“What? I thought you’d make him your pet or something. Don’t we have enough house slaves as it is?”

“You’re the one who bought him,” master reminds her and Jerry struggles to keep his face blank at hearing them talking about him like that.

“Hey, boy, you’d better not spill anything on me,” mistress grunts, moving her chair a little farther away as he walks by, watching him with distrust.

“No, mistress,” Jerry says softly as he starts serving the food and pouring their drinks with practiced ease. His last master – and his wife in particular – threw posh parties every weekend and they were big on etiquette. Jerry had to learn quite fast that everything had rules – from the placement of every piece of cutlery, to the order of serving or selecting the right shape of glass.

When he’s done, he takes a step back, waiting for any further instructions. With held breath he watches mistress as she glowers at the spread in front of her, most likely looking for things to criticize.

“Thank you, Jerry,” master says kindly and he startles, as focused on mistress as he was.

“Master,” Jerry bows his head and then quickly takes his leave, feeling mistress’ eyes boring holes in the back of his head all the way out.

“So?” Tracy asks as she takes the empty tray from him. “What did she hate?”

“Um, she—she didn’t say anything.”

“Oh, you’re good,” Tracy chuckles. “It took _me_ like a week to even learn how to pour her coffee properly.”

Jerry feels his face turn red but a smile tugs at his lips.

After breakfast, Dennis informs him he’s to be helping Tracy today and she’ll tell him what to do.

“Alright, we’re going for a weekly grocery shopping later today so I’ll make a list. Here, write it down,” she puts a piece of paper and a pen in front of his hans and before he can get a word out, she’s already looking through the fridge and freezer, calling her list out. “Eggs. Milk. Whipping cream, too. Ground beef. Chicken – chilled, not frozen, I’ll cook it for dinner. Oh, and bacon!...”

Jerry quickly props his paper against the door frame, biting his lip in concentration, desperately trying to focus on Tracy’s rapidly dictated list and his writing at the same time.

“Got it all?” she asks, glancing over his shoulder at the piece of paper in front of him. On it, in large shaky letters, it says: EGGZ, MIL

“Oh, honey,” she sighs softly and Jerry blinks away the tears that blur the letters in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he says dejectedly, handing over the pen and paper. Why is he so _stupid_. All slaves are taught how to read and write as it is required by the law. And he did learn for a bit back at the farm but he just never got much chance to practice.

“Don’t be,” he shakes her head as she quickly and effortlessly scribbles down her shopping list. “I could maybe teach you, hm? I’m sure you’ll pick it up quickly.”

Jerry doesn’t answer, feeling more useless by the second. He was supposed to _help_ her, not add more work to her already busy schedule.

“You know what, forget the list,” she waves her hand. “I have other work for you.”

She leads him to the walk-in pantry and Jerry gapes.

“I know, it’s a chaos,” Tracy says apologetically. Chaos is probably a mild way of putting it – it’s a pure mess. There shelves are overflowing with things without any particular order or sense; there are half-empty boxes of pasta everywhere, with various cans and ketchup bottles strewn in between, as well as numerous bags of what looks suspiciously like moldy bread lying on the floor.

“I’ve meant to sort this out for a long time but you know, there’s only one of me and there are always more pressing things to do. I just need you to look through the stuff and throw out anything past the expiration date or, you know, bad or moldy. Whatever you’re not sure about, set it aside and I’ll look at it later.”

With that she leaves and Jerry gets to work. He doesn’t know what his time limit is and so he tries to go as fast as possible. He panics for a bit when he can’t find any bags to discard the food into or the cleaning supplies but once he gets all he needs it goes smoothly.

About an hour later, he’s sweating and there’s dust and cobwebs in his hair but he’s all done. And just in time for Tracy to come back, too.

“Oh my god, Jerry, what did you do?” she exclaims as she peeks in and Jerry looks around himself in alarm. All the shelves have been wiped clean and perfectly arranged and neatly sorted. He even lined the cans into perfect rows with labels in the front so that Tracy can find what she needs immediately. It only occurs to him now, though, that she probably had her own system of finding things and he completely ruined it.

“I—I’m sorry—”

“What? It’s amazing! And you managed in just an hour? Dennis, come here, you gotta see this—” she calls into the house and Jerry’s face turns bright red. He shuffles on his feet nervously, unsure what to do with the attention as Dennis appears a beat later, looking around.

“Well, that certainly looks much better. Great job, Jerry,” he says and Jerry doesn’t think his face could get any redder. Those words he hasn’t heard… well, probably ever. And not that he thinks what he did warrants such a praise, not in the slightest, but he still can’t help but grin stupidly.

\--°°--

In a couple of weeks, everything gets easier as he settles into the routine and he feels like he can relax at least the tiniest bit. It helps that master keeps his distance and doesn’t pay Jerry much attention as whenever he’s so much as in the same room, there’s a low-grade panic at the back of his head that makes his heart pound and his hands sweat and any tasks he’s doing suddenly becomes ten times as complicated.

He mostly helps around the house – dusting, moping, window-cleaning, whatever is asked of him. He performs every task with utmost concentration and care, so as not to screw up. It’s kind of exhausting but that’s way he’s always done things – his masters always required perfection and even the slightest mistakes were punished harshly. After all these years, it has become second nature to him and he does everything as if his skin was at stake.

Tracy and Dennis have been nothing but patient and kind to him and sometimes late at night he cries into the pillow just thinking about the care and affection they show him. They barely know him and yet they opened their hearts to him without hesitation. He wants to return the love, he does, but at the same time, it terrifies him so much it punches all breath out of him.

Caring for other slaves is dangerous and it just sets him up for another heartbreak. When he was a kid, he gave his love freely and carelessly. He feared and respected his master but the other slaves, they were family. It didn’t even occur to him that it wouldn’t last. And he wasn’t prepared for how much it would hurt to be torn away from them.

After that he kept his distance from others to protect himself. It wasn’t hard to do, as either he was the only one or the slaves changed all the time and everyone was so miserable, nobody really gave a shit about anything but their own survival. Here, it’s different. It almost feels like what they had back home – a family, or at least what Jerry imagines a family must feel like.

And Jerry’s scared. He’s scared that he’ll start caring about them again only to be taken away. He doesn’t think he’ll survive that.

These are the thoughts that keep him up at nights but during the day, he’s usually too busy to give in to the melancholy. Whenever he has time off, he goes into the garden only to get frustrated. There’s nothing to do and it’s such a waste. If it were up to him, he’d plant flower beds over there. Maybe some flowering shrubs there. Oh, and how he’d love to start growing some vegies again. Or even just strawberries. Anything.

“Does master hire a gardener?” he carefully asks Dennis one day while they’re outside.

“He used to but then the guy retired and master never found anyone new. I only mow the grass from time to time. No one spends too much time in the garden anyway.”

No wonder, Jerry thinks, when it looks like this. He doesn’t say anything, though. It’s not his place. He’ll do whatever Dennis and Tracy ask him to, doesn’t matter what _he_ wants to do.

It’s a few days later and he’s wiping the dust off showcase shelves and polishing delicate crystal glasses. He’s so focused on his task, terrified he’ll break one the glasses if he holds it too tight, that he does even hear the clicking of mistress heels coming closer.

“Jerry,” she snaps and he startles, almost dropping the glass. “Why don’t you make yourself useful, since apparently you’re here to stay. Go clean up the studio, I need it ready by the time I get back from the mall.”

Jerry hesitates, looking at the half-finished task in front of him that Dennis assigned him to.

“Now!” she roars and he flinches again.

“Yes, mistress,” he mutters and quickly starts putting all the glasses back, clean and dusty alike, as she walks off. Quicky he runs towards the studio. It’s fine, he’ll take care of it quickly and then he’ll still have time to finish those showcases.

When he enters the studio, he groans in frustration. The room is in disarray; it looks like it hasn’t been cleaned once since the last time he was here. How can she even work here like this? Are all artists this messy?

He gets to work but it’s taking forever and he starts to grow nervous. In retrospect he probably just should have told Dennis he couldn’t finish the glasses because mistress called him off but he just doesn’t want to cause trouble. So instead he hurries as fast as he can without paying the attention he normally would.

And that’s exactly why when he wants to scrape old paint from the palette and can’t find the palette knife, he grabs the first thing lying around which just so happens to be a box cutter. It slides right off the wood and cuts into Jerry’s forearm with all the strength of Jerry’s hurried movement.

“Oh no,” Jerry mumbles as he drops the cutter and clutches at his arm. The pain doesn’t even register; all he sees is the blood that immediately starts to drop down his arm onto the floor.

Not the floor, the rug! The mostly likely ridiculously expensive beige rug!

Wrapping his arm in his shirt, he takes a few panicked steps back. Looking around himself, all he finds is a dirty, paint-stained rag and when he tries wiping the blood, he only smears it around and makes it worse.

When the blood starts to slowly seep through his shirt, trickling down his elbows, he abandons his useless efforts and runs from the room, heading to the slave quarters bathroom. First he needs to get the bleeding under control and then he’ll take care of the mess. He still has time. He can still fix this!

Holding onto this thought desperately, he manages to keep the panic down. Carefully he unwraps his arm, blanching at the sight of the deep, sluggishly bleeding cut.

Soon enough the whole bathroom looks like a crime scene and still the bleeding doesn’t show any signs of stopping.

“Jerry?” comes Dennis’ voice from behind the door and Jerry curses. “Are you alright?”

“Um… Just—just a second!”

Dennis doesn’t wait and enters. There are no locks on the door to stop him and there’s no way to hide what’s going on and so Jerry just slumps in defeat, overwhelmed and on the brink of tears.

“What happened?” Dennis asks sharply.

“I cut myself,” Jerry admits. “I was cleaning mistress’ studio. I ruined her tug,” he adds miserably.

“Show me,” Dennis orders sternly and Jerry reluctantly offers his arm.

“It’s fine, I’ll clean it up! Please don’t tell? Please? She’s gonna be so mad.”

Dennis inspects his arm, frowning. “This needs stitches. I have to tell master,” he says seriously.

“What? No, it’s nothing, it’s just a scratch. Dennis, please!”

Dennis doesn’t seem to be listening to his panicked pleas, though. He grabs a small first aid kit from a drawer and takes out a gauge, placing it on the cut.

“Press on it,” he instructs and then leads him out of the bathroom. Tracy is waiting there, looking worried.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’ll take Jerry to a doctor and I’ll call master on the way. Tracy, go to the studio and get the blood off the rug and anywhere else. If anyone asks, Jerry cut himself while helping in the kitchen, okay?”

“Okay,” Tracy nods seriously. “Do you know when mistress will be back?”

“She said she’s going to the mall.”

“Good, that should give us enough time. Come on, let’s go.”

Jerry follows Dennis to the car, too dumbfounded to even process what just happened, his heart beating with fear and adrenaline.

“Thank you,” Jerry says quietly as he they drive off, doing his best to press on the still bleeding cut so as not to get blood on the car upholstery.

“Don’t worry about it. I know how mistress is when she gets mad. It’s not pretty. Or fair,” he looks at him sympathetically and then reaches for his phone.

“Master, just wanted to let you know that I’m on my way to the doctor with Jerry.” Jerry goes rigid, barely breathing, but as much as he strains his ears he can’t make out master’s reply over the humming of the car. “… He cut himself… In the kitchen… Yes… No, he’s fine…. Yes, I’m sure… I will, thank you, master.”

Jerry bites his lips, wanting to ask if master’s mad, but then decides he doesn’t want to know. He’s stressed enough as it is. He’s feeling slightly faint but he’s sure it’s from the nerves and fear and not actually from the blood loss. Well, almost sure.

It doesn’t take long for them to pull into a parking lot and Jerry groans when he recognizes the place where master took him the first time.

“I know. I don’t like that guy either. But not that many private places are willing to treat slaves. Lucky for us this one is too greedy to say no to master’s money,” Dennis scoff as he gets out of the car.

As promised, they don’t wait long. Master must have called ahead because almost as soon as they get to the waiting room, Jerry hears the doctor call: “Get the boy inside before he gets blood all over the chairs!”

It’s the same nurse as before that brings them in, giving Jerry a friendly smile. Dennis accompanies him inside, standing right behind him as he sits in the chair opposite to the doctor.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” the man gestures impatiently and Jerry makes himself offer the arm that he’s been cradling to the chest.

The doctor only clucks his tongue at the sight of it. He then wordlessly dons a pair of gloves and gathers his supplies. As he sits back down, about to start, Dennis speaks up.

“Master explicitly requested that you use anesthetics. He’s more than happy to pay for it, he said.”

The doctor shoots Dennis an annoyed glare but then grabs a tube and spreads some kind of gel on the wound. Almost immediately the whole area goes numb and when the doctor starts with the stitches, all he feels is a bit of tugging.

It doesn’t take more than a couple of minutes for him to finish. “There,” he says as he takes off the gloves and throws them in the bin. “All done. At least you don’t have to worry too much about scarring, hm?” he smirks and Jerry feels cold shame twist in his stomach. And now Dennis saw, too! He didn’t even realize, back in the bathroom, as focused on the bleeding as he was. Suddenly he wants nothing than to pull his sleeve all the way down again and get out of there.

No such luck though, as the nurse first starts to wrap a neat white bandage around his forearm. “You’re looking so much better today,” she tells him softly and he can’t help but smile back at her. He guesses he must look better; he definitely _feels_ better than he did the first time he was here.

“I usually give these to kids, but… here,” she says quietly as they’re leaving and slips a lollipop in his pocket. The way she’s looking over her shoulder makes Jerry think she’s probably not allowed to give these to slaves and he feels ridiculously grateful for the gesture.

Back in the car, Jerry leans back and closes his eyes, suddenly exhausted. His arm is starting to throb, the numbing starting to wear off.

“Dennis?” Jerry asks as something occurs to him. “Master didn’t say anything about the anesthetics, did he?”

“No,” Dennis smiles. “But he would have if he were here. It’s true what I said, he would have been happy to pay extra for it.”

Jerry is inclined to believe Dennis, after all, he must know him better than Jerry. But it’s just weird. No master Jerry ever met would waste money for anesthetics for such a minor thing. _Especially_ when it was all Jerry’s fault for being so clumsy.

When they get home and mistress is still gone, Jerry lets out a breath of relief.

“I’ve gotta finish with the studio,” he says as soon as they get inside but Tracy stops him.

“I’ve already taken care of it. Go get some rest.”

“What? But—”

“The blood is gone and I tidied the whole room up. Really, it’s okay, go.”

It’s clear there’s no arguing with her. And he is kind of exhausted, though he doesn’t think he could fall asleep right now. Now that the adrenaline is slowly fading, his arm is starting to throb somewhat terribly and it’s getting hard to ignore.

Unsure where else to go, his steps take him once again to the garden, where sits in the shade of one of the tall trees, hugging his knees close to his chest. His head is still swimming, trying to process what happened.

Why are Dennis and Tracy so nice to him? It’s not like he has anything to offer back to them. They can’t win any favors from him by helping him. Maybe it’s just because they didn’t want mistress mad, that’s probably not fun for anyone as she is definitely the kind of person who takes out her anger on whoever happens to be near her. But then again, that doesn’t explain other things, like—

“Hey,” Dennis says and Jerry jerks from his thoughts. He didn’t even notice him come close. “You’re okay?”

“I, uh—yes, sure,” Jerry nods and Dennis sits next him on the ground.

“Here—” he hands him a bottle of water and a small white pill. “It’s a painkiller.”

And here it is again! Dennis being nice to him for reason at all! Still, he takes the pill, too tired to try to wrap his mind around it.

“Thank you,” he says, gulping down the water. He didn’t even realize how thirsty he was. “And thank you for—you know. Helping me.”

“Anytime,” Dennis says seriously. “We have to look out for each other, right? I’ll always help you. As much as I can, anyway.”

Jerry can’t say anything over the lump in his throat and so he just nods. Dennis doesn’t seem to expect an answer anyway, as he just pats his shoulder and leaves.

Later in the evening, master comes into the kitchen just as they’re about to eat. He doesn’t usually come down here and Jerry’s stomach turns cold with fear at the sight of his stern expression.

Without a word, he comes closer and gently takes Jerry’s arm, inspecting it, even though there’s nothing to see but the white bandage.

“How many stitches?” he asks then, his voice low.

“Six, master,” Jerry replies quietly and master huffs, shaking his head, and then rounds on Tracy.

“You were supposed to be supervising him!” he raises his voice and Jerry flinches. “Why did you let him near the sharp knives if he can’t handle them, are you out of your mind? He is _your_ responsibility when he’s in the kitchen!”

As much as Jerry wants to speak up, to tell master this is all his fault, he’s completely frozen in fear. His panicked heart-beat is deafening to his own ears and he’s feeling vaguely sick.

“I apologize, master,” Tracy hangs her head, looking chastised. “I won’t happen again.”

“I sure hope so,” he snaps and then leaves.

“I’m so sorry, Tracy,” Jerry sniffles. All she did was help him, only to get yelled at by master. She must _hate_ him right now.

“Oh, honey, don’t,” Tracy wraps him in her arms and all his resolve breaks. It was stupid to think he could keep his distance. He’s too weak to not get attached. He can’t—he doesn’t even want to, either. It’s been too long since he last had anyone care for him like this and he wants it so much it hurts. And if it kills him when he gets sold later on, so be it.

Slowly, he shuffles closer, locking his stiff arms behind her, while she soothingly runs her arm up and down his back. “There, it’s okay. He’s just mad because he doesn’t want you hurt, that’s all.”

Jerry just nods, too exhausted to argue. It takes a long time for him to gather the strength to pull away but Tracy doesn’t rush him. At one point she just reaches over to stir something on the stove while still holding him with the other arm.

Eventually, though, he manages to pull himself together and takes a step back.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, giving Tracy a self-deprecating smile.

“You need to stop apologizing so much, love,” she chides gently.

“I’m s—I’ll try.”

“Okay,” she chuckles and then steers him towards the table. “Let’s eat.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm really sorry I haven't been able to post as often as I would like. Real life has gotten in the way, I've been sick, kids have been sick, no kindergarten for a week... But it should get back to normal next week so I'll be able to finally start working on the next chapter of the main story. Thanks for your patience and if you ever wanna reach out and ask what the hell is taking so long, I'm on discord;-) https://discord.gg/zTf4Yjw

Jerry’s in the kitchen, helping Tracy put away the groceries, only half-listening to her chatter. He’s exhausted. In the morning, Dennis took him to have his stitches removed, which was stressful enough, but as soon as they got home, he was intercepted on his way to his room by mistress, clearly angry and frustrated, who dragged him into the studio. There he spent the rest of the morning posing for her so that she could finish a painting that she was stuck on, while he tried to ignore his empty stomach or how thirsty he was. That was really his fault though for skipping breakfast, too nervous as he was about the doctor’s visit.

It was not fair, though, Jerry thought. In the end, all she achieved was that she no longer has to take care of him while still using him whenever she sees fit, regardless of whether he’s busy with other things that Dennis puts him to. He’s not really sure who has the higher authority but he never dares say no to mistress. He knows master always has the final say here, and he put Dennis in charge, but Dennis is still a slave and unlike mistress, Jerry’s pretty sure he wouldn’t flip out if he didn’t get something done in time.

Still, it’s stressful. For him it means that he has to work twice as fast to get all his chores done, while making sure everything is perfect and to mistress’ liking. And the worse thing is, she looks at him as if the mere sight of him offended her, no matter how hard he tries or how well he follows her instructions.

So, yeah, definitely not a good start of the day. He snaps his attention back to the task at hand, grabbing the eggs to put them away. Next to him, Tracy’s cleaning the vegetables and he notices she removes a few small packets that were attached to the carrots.

“What are those?” he asks curiously.

“These? Oh, just seeds, they give them away here from time to time,” Tracy shrugs and Jerry’s heart sinks as he watches her toss the seeds into thrash. Judging from the pictures on the packet, they were carrots and lettuce and something else that he can’t make out before Tracy throws more trash on top of them. Tracy goes on as if nothing happened and with a heavy heart, Jerry makes himself return to work too.

Infuriatingly, though, he can’t stop thinking about it. So when after lunch, while wiping the floor, he finds himself alone in the kitchen, it only takes a moment of hesitation before he caves in. With a beating heart he digs through the trash, until he finds the little packets, a bit greasy and stained, but otherwise intact.

For three days he carries them in his pockets, daydreaming about starting a little vegetable garden, before he finds the courage to even go into the garden and look for a good spot. Soon enough, though, it becomes evident just how naïve his plan was. There’s no way this is going to work. There’s nothing but grass, which he can’t dig out without any tools. And even if he did, the soil is too dry to support anything, anyway.

Dejected, he heads back inside, so lost in his thought, he doesn’t even notice master coming out, his usual cup of coffee in his hand, until he almost runs into him.

“Careful!” master steps away, lifting his coffee. He then frowns, tilting his head as he takes Jerry in. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, master,” he nods quickly, trying to school his face into somethings less miserable. Master hums, putting his finger under Jerry’s chin, lifting his face ever-so-gently.

“Are you sure?”

Jerry’s heart is hammering in chest and the seeds suddenly feel heavy in his pocket. He could just ask. He could list all the advantages of growing his own vegies and beg master to let him set up one of his own. But then he thinks of the tools, the soil and everything else he’d need and he shuts that line of thought. He can’t possibly ask master to spend any more money on him, not when he’s been generous enough to keep and feed him and for what… another set of hands that he doesn’t really need.

“Yes, master,” Jerry repeats, more convincingly now.

“Alright,” master says softly. His hand moves to his face, gently brushing his bangs out of his eyes. The intimate gesture sends cold fear down his spine and he goes rigid. It must show, despite his best efforts to keep his face blank, because master quickly pulls away and takes a step back.

“You’re in a dire need of a haircut,” master notes.

“I’ll cut it, master,” Jerry quickly reassures him. He’s cut his own hair a lot of times. It always ends up looking terrible but it’s better than the buzzcut he used to get from some of his masters.

“Oh no, please don’t,” master chuckles. “I’ll take you to a hairdresser tomorrow.”

“I—thank you, master,” Jerry says, his decision not to mention the garden hardening. Not when he’s costing master so much already. Giving him a small smile, master finally leaves to drink his coffee and Jerry lets out a breath of relief. He goes back inside, throwing the seeds in the trash before going back to his duties.

The next day, as he’s dusting the living room, he pauses when he catches a glimpse of himself in the glass reflection. He still hasn’t gotten used to his shorter hair but he likes it. Unable to resist, he runs his fingers through it, smiling to himself as he thinks back to the morning.

As promised, master came for him right after breakfast, telling him to get in the car. He took him to the most upscale mall he’s even seen and the hair saloon was just as fancy. He’s never been in a place like that and he’s never felt so out of place.

Luckily, not much was required of him. All he had to do was sit there and let everyone gush over him as if he were a life-sized doll. He didn’t really mind though, as everyone was unbelievably gentle and careful with him. And no wonder, too, when master sat just a few feet away, enjoying the coffee and cookies they served him, while keeping a watchful eye on him.

Jerry flinches guiltily at the sound of the main door opening and stops admiring himself, quickly finishing wiping the shelf. Then voices carry into the living room, one is master’s and the other one, low and rumbling, he’s never heard before.

Jerry pauses and strains his ears, his heart picking up. Strangers in the house are barely a good sign and Jerry’s learned that it’s usually wise to just make himself scarce and hope for the best, especially since he’s new here and has no idea what to expect. Quietly he puts the rag down and is about to tiptoe out of the living room and hide downstairs when he hears a strange sound.

It takes a moment for him to realize it’s master laughing, loud and heartily. It takes him by surprise and only now does it occur to him that he’s never heard him laugh before. Not like this, anyway.

The curiosity wins over his fear and he quietly steals through the house. Peeking from behind the corner he steals a quick glance of master and the stranger. He looks about master’s age, his dark hair in a short messy ponytail and his long beard just as unruly. He’s smiling too, patting master affectionately on the shoulder.

Jerry doesn’t get to take any closer look before he realizes they’re coming towards him and he quickly ducks back. There’s no way he’s going to be able to make it to the safety of his room now and so after a moment of panic, he just plasters himself against the wall in a standard resting pose – head down, hands clasped at his lower back. 

It’s as good as hiding, anyway. House slaves are practically invisible to free people; they blend with furniture and no one ever thinks to even looks in their general direction, so he’s pretty confident they’re just going to pass him, as caught up in their conversation as they are, anyway.

“Yeah, I know! I wasn’t planning to—oh, hello?” the stranger stops mid-sentence and Jerry’s stomach sinks when the two of them stop in front of him. He should have gone to his room when he had the chance.

“Sir,” Jerry says softly after an awkward silence in which it becomes obvious a reply is expected of him. He keeps his eyes down and all he can see are his light linen shorts, tanned hairy legs and worn leather sandals.

“I don’t think we’ve met before, have we? What’s your name?”

“Yeah, he’s new, this is—” master starts to say but the man interrupts him, waving his hand at him.

“Oh, shut up, Gabe, he can speak for himself, can’t he?”

Master huffs, but he sounds more amused than annoyed, luckily.

“I—my name’s Jerry, sir.”

“Nice to meet you, Jerry. I’m Mark,” the stranger says easily, almost as if he’s expecting Jerry to call him by his first name. Unsure how to respond, Jerry just nods.

“Jerry, why don’t you take Mark to his room and make it ready for him. We’ll catch up later, Mark?”

“That sounds great. I think I’m still six hours behind your time. Or ahead? I don’t even remember. And I haven’t showered in like three days so yeah, we’ll talk later.”

With a last fond pat on the man’s shoulder, master leaves and Jerry is left alone with him, the panic returning anew. Where is _his_ room? Probably one of the spare bedrooms, but which one? Where the hell is Dennis when he needs him?

“Come on,” the man says and walks towards the stairs. Jerry hurries after, awkwardly hovering a step behind him, instead of leading the way as he should be. And also, too late does he notice that he’s still carrying his own bag that Jerry failed to take from him.

“So how are you liking it here?” he asks and slows down, clearly waiting for Jerry to catch up.

“It’s very nice here, sir,” Jerry mutters quickly.

“Just Mark is fine, really. And Jerry? Can you look at me?”

Reluctantly, Jerry makes himself raise his eyes and meet the warm brown eyes of the stranger. His face is open and friendly, and his face is tanned and weather-beaten, the lines around his eyes deepening as he smiles.

“There. Thank you. I’m pretty sure Gabe’s not too big on all this ‘no looking free people in the eyes’ nonsense either, right?”

“Um,” Jerry hesitates. He actually doesn’t know, it’s something he’s been doing all his life and so far, nobody complained. Avoiding people’s eyes has become second nature to Jerry and even now it takes all his willpower to not let his gaze drop again. “I don’t think so, sir.”

“Hm,” he hums thoughtfully. “How long have you been here?”

“Two months—I think. Sir.”

He hums again, giving Jerry a weird look and he suddenly has an uncomfortable feeling he’s done something wrong even though he can’t figure out what exactly.

They reach one of the bedrooms and Mark walks in confidently, going straight for the window, opening it to let in some fresh air to stale room.

“I always stay in this one, I like the view,” he smiles. Jerry glances outside, the ocean shimmering down below them and yeah, he gets the appeal.

Drawing his attention back to the room, Jerry notices that there’s a thin layer of dust on all the surfaces and he feels shame twist in his stomach. He would have cleaned up this room if he knew they were expecting guests. Now this is just making master look bad.

Mark doesn’t seem to mind. He plops down in the chair by the window and kicks his feet up with a satisfied sigh. As quickly and quietly as he can, Jerry strips the less than fresh linen off the bed and throws it on the floor outside of the room. From a closet in the corridor he grabs a new set and brings it back.

“Thank you, Jerry, I can make my own bed,” Mark stops him kindly as he’s about to start changing the sheets. Hesitantly, he puts the linen on the bed and takes a step back. Then he notices the bag on the floor and reaches for it.

“Oh no, you don’t want to do that,” Mark chuckles and moves the bag out of the way. “The socks haven’t been washed in three weeks, they’re nasty. Don’t worry, I know how to operate the washing machine,” he winks.

Jerry’s feeling more lost and confused by the minute. What is he supposed to _do_ here? “I’ll freshen the room up right away,” he says finally, remembering the dust. “If you give me five minutes, I’ll just grab my supplies…”

Finally, Mark drops his feet down and comes closer. Jerry cringes in anticipation but all he does is gently take hold of his shoulders and leads him out of the room.

“I’m a big boy, I do my own cleaning, so don’t worry about me. I’m not here to take any of your time or give you more work, okay?” he says patiently. “And if you don’t mind, I’m going to pass out now, so see you later.”

With that he closes the door on him and Jerry stares at the wood for a solid minute before he shakes himself off and goes back downstairs.

“Is it true? Is Mark here?” Tracy asks excitedly later in the evening as she comes back from the shops.

“Yep. Do you really call him Mark?” he asks, bewildered.

“Well, not in front of master, obviously. It’s always Mr. Perez. You know how he is,” she rolls her eyes.

“How do you know him?”

“Oh, he always stays here for at least couple weeks like once a year. Master and him are really good friends. He’s always travelling all over the world so he doesn’t keep a place to stay around here. That’s why he stays here but don’t worry about him, he does everything himself. He’s weird that way,” Tracy chuckles.

“Yeah, I noticed,” Jerry mutters, still not sure how to feel about that.

They don’t see much of their new guest the next two days. He pops into the kitchen from time to time, grabbing something to eat, exchanging a few friendly words with Tracy or Dennis, but other than that, he’s either out of the house with master or, more often, sleeping in his room.

It’s on the third day in the afternoon that he bursts into kitchen, making Jerry jump and drop his knife down with a clatter.

“Stop whatever you’re doing. I’m in charge of dinner today and I say we’re grilling outside tonight.”

“Oh, I like that,” Tracy chuckles, reaching for the grocery bag that Mark slams on the counter.

They get to work, unpacking the meat and other things Mark bought, while Jerry hovers awkwardly nearby, unsure what to do. It’s so weird to watch Mark, a free man, move with such an ease in the kitchen, completely unbothered to be working side by side with a slave.

“Why don’t you start on the salad, honey?” Tracy tells him when she notices him just standing there in the middle of the kitchen, lost, and Jerry nods, grateful for some instructions.

The evening turns out to be more fun that Jerry could ever expect. While preparing the food, Mark tells one story after another about his ridiculous backpacking adventures and despite doing his best to keep his attention on the vegetables, Jerry can’t help but be drawn into the stories, smiling along.

Dennis joins them some time later, too, reporting that the grills is all set up and ready, and he stays, slowly peeling potatoes, which Jerry suspects is just so that he has a reason to stay and listen to Mark.

When everything’s ready, master with mistress and Mark sit outside. They help bring all the food and drinks into the garden but then are dismissed as Mark takes charge of the grilling and shoos them away.

By that time it’s getting late and Jerry’s getting pretty hungry. Tracy and Dennis don’t seem in a hurry to get themselves something to eat, just hanging in the kitchen, chatting. It’s weird and eventually, Jerry gives up and gets himself some bread from the pantry.

“Leave some room,” Tracy tells him. He frowns, confused, but Tracy just nods towards the garden. Master’s and Mark’s cheerful voices, as well as the mouth-watering smell of grilled meat are carrying through the open window. “There’s going to be plenty left for us to eat, Mark always saves something for us.”

“Alright,” Jerry reluctantly returns the bread and joins them.

\--°°--

Gabriel opens himself another beer, leaning back against the chair with a content sigh. He’s pleasantly full—well, stuffed to be honest—but Mark still gets up and puts more meat and vegetables on the grill. Most likely it’s for the slaves and Gabriel doesn’t mind. It’s not too often that they get to taste Mark’s cooking.

Next to him, Hanna sighs too but it’s more bored than anything. Her plate is barely touched and she smirks as she watches Mark operate the grill. There’s not much love between these two, Gabriel knows. It’s no secret that Mark thinks Hanna is a spoiled brat while she thinks he’s a dirty vagabond taking advantage of Gabriel’s generosity to crash here for free.

It’s not true, though. He’s always happy to have Mark here. He’s the only childhood friend he hasn’t fallen out of touch with despite their lives being so different. Whenever he’s here, it’s like they only just saw each other yesterday, never awkward or forced.

Back in the days, Gabriel had a crazy crush on Mark and countless times he wished he could just pack up and leave with him. It was not meant to be, though. Especially when his parents died and he had to take responsibility of the people depending on him. Eventually he outgrew his raging hormones and got over his embarrassing infatuation but the fondness never disappeared.

“I think I’ll turn in,” Hanna stretches with an unconvincing yawn and gets up. “Got work to do tomorrow. I’m sure we’ll see other plenty over the next weeks, though. Night.”

“G’night,” Mark huffs and then takes the beer from Gabriel’s hand, taking a sip, and sits down next to him. “Work,” he chuckles when she’s out of earshot. “As if.”

Gabriel gives him a pointed look and Mark rolls his eyes fondly. “Right. Fair enough. But at least I don’t go around talking about how much _work_ I have.”

“You know how she sees her art. Plus, she does have some uni assignments.”

“I know,” Mark says placatingly, clearly not wanting to argue. “Speaking of work, I’d be happy to help out. Whatever you need – you know I can’t stay idle for long.”

“Thanks,” Gabriel smiles. “I kind of have people for that.”

“Clearly not enough, when you have to get a new one,” Mark raises his eyebrow pointedly.

“Well—no, it’s not like that.”

“No? What is up with the new guy then? And why does he look so terrified most of the time?” he says casually, flipping the sizzling steaks on the grill, but Gabriel doesn’t miss the sidelong glance.

“Don’t look at me, you know I don’t abuse my slaves,” he bristles. “What I meant is, I didn’t buy him. Hanna did but it ‘didn’t work out’,” has make air quotes with his fingers. “I didn’t have the heart to take him back, though, so he kind of stayed. He’s a sweet boy but he’s had some pretty bad luck with previous owners.”

Mark huffs, shaking his head. “Bad luck,” he scoffs. “Isn’t that the standard? I have yet to meet anyone who treats their slaves with half the decency that you do.”

“No, it’s not that bad,” Gabriel insists. Sure, there are cases of slave abuse but things like that have always happened, there have always been murders and rapes and people being shitty to each other, that’s nothing new or exclusive to the system of slavery. What they need is a better system to prevent and discover such cases and bring the abusers to justice.

“If you say so,” Mark says quietly, looking into distance. Then he shakes himself off, his smile returning, and he puts his hand high on Gabriel’s thigh, his fingers brushing against his crotch and Gabriel’s breath hitches. “So, do you wanna finish this up and go inside?”

Gabriel narrows his eyes, ignoring the blood rushing down into his dick. This is probably not a good idea. It’s not that they haven’t done it before – they’ve been fooling around since they were horny teenagers but for Mark it has always been just sex while for Gabriel, it tends to stir up the feelings he’s been doing his best to ignore for years.

“Come on,” Mark whispers lowly. “I haven’t gotten laid in months. I’ll let you tie me up,” he winks. Gabriel groans, his resolve crumbling faster than a house of cards, and Mark grins victoriously as he gets up to plate the food from the grill.

\--°°--

A few days later, Jerry’s ironing master’s dress shirts, bored out of his mind, when he glances out of the window and almost drops the iron. Mark’s out in the garden, two bags of soil and mulch by his feet, and is using a shovel to dig up the grass.

Jerry watches him for a while, his stomach twisting with longing to be there. Dejectedly, he looks at the pile of crumpled shirts and then makes up his mind in the split of a second. He quickly turns off the iron and hides the basket with unfinished laundry into a closet before all but running outside.

His heart is beating like crazy but he makes himself continue before he can lose his courage. All too soon he finds himself next to Mark, who stops, looking at him curiously, squinting his eyes against the sun.

This was a bad idea but it’s too late to go back inside. He takes a breath but his voice is still breathless and shaky as he asks: “Can—can I maybe help, sir?”

“Of course you can, Jerry,” Mark smiles easily and Jerry lets out a breath, unable to stop himself from smiling too. He hasn’t been this excited in ages and he eagerly looks at Mark for instructions.

“I was thinking I could make myself useful while here. This garden could use a flower bed, what do you think?”

“I’m sure master will like that very much,” Jerry nods even though he’s not sure master will even notice, not to mention care. _He_ sure will like it, though. And to be able to work in the garden again, to help plan and design a whole new flower bed, it doesn’t get much better than that.

“This will be actually much easier with your help. You can start here—look,” he hands him a spade and it’s at that moment that he hears the door to the garden open.

“Jerry!” mistress snaps from inside and Jerry’s stomach plummets. _No, please. Not now! “_ Come here.”

Jerry blinks quickly to hide the tears already forming in his eyes and dejectedly gives the spade back. As he’s about to leave, though, Mark takes hold of his arm and tugs him back.

“Hey, Hanna, what’s up,” he calls back with a charming smile.

“Not much,” mistress shrugs. “Just need to borrow Jerry for a moment.”

“Yeah, he’s kinda busy right now. Something you need help with? Maybe I could lend you a hand?” he asks, his tone friendly and casual, but he’s still keeping hold of Jerry, not looking like’s about to let go.

After a beat of hesitation, she huffs, annoyed. “No, it’s fine,” and goes back inside. Mark’s smile slips, and he shakes his head.

“The nerve of her, really,” he mutters under his breath and gives the spade back to Jerry, who’s still frozen on the spot, his heart hammering.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

“Don’t mention it. A grown-ass woman like her should do her own chores, if you ask me. Try telling that to Gabe, though. Anyway, let’s get this ready and then we’re going plant shopping.”

By the time the sun starts to drop towards the horizon, Jerry’s aching all over but the new flower bed is almost ready. They’re just finishing watering the new plants when master’s car pulls in.

“What are you doing?” master asks cautiously as he steps closer. Jerry quicky dusts his hands and takes a step back, suddenly nervous what master will think. What if he’s angry that they dug up his garden?

“Surprise,” Mark grins, theatrically gesturing towards the garden.

“Oh. Nice,” he says. He doesn’t look impressed but at least he doesn’t sound angry either. “You’ve been busy, I see.”

“Yeah, just wait until these grow a bit. It will look great.”

“I’m sure,” master nods and then after a pause, “I guess I should find a gardener again, huh?”

Jerry’s heart skips a beat and he looks up, opening his mouth but can’t make himself speak up. He needs to _say_ something, tell master he’ll do it, he’ll take care of the plants and save him the money for hiring someone else. But he’s too frozen in fear, everything in his head screaming at him to not speak out of turn, not when two free men are talking.

Then Dennis comes in and the moment is broken. Master with Mark walk back inside, talking, though Jerry can’t really make out what they’re saying over the buzzing in his ears.

“Jerry!” Dennis asks, and he finally snaps back to himself.

“What?” he blinks, dazed.

“I asked where master’s shirts are?”

“Oh – I didn’t—I forgot. I’ll do it right away!”

Dennis frowns at him, more concerned than angry, and Jerry quickly scurries away. In the end there’s no time before dinner and he ends up bringing the laundry into his room and ironing until about two in the morning. He’s dead on his feet by the time he goes to bed but still he feels happier than he has in a long time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically part two of the previous chapter so I wanted to get it done before finally moving back to Erik and Zach:)

For the next week Jerry keeps hoping Mark will do more work in the garden and let Jerry tag along. Anytime he as much as steps outside, Jerry’s plastered to the window to make sure he doesn’t miss anything but most of the time Mark just lazes in the hammock that he set up there, to Jerry’s never- ending frustration.

When it become pretty obvious that Mark has no intention of doing any more work in master’s boring garden, Jerry gives up and physically has to force himself to stop looking out of the window like every five minutes.

Still, whenever he has a moment, he checks on the new flower bed, even though there’s not much to do at this point and so he usually just ends up sitting there, lost in thoughts and memories, just like he is now.

“Talking to the plants?” Mark’s amused voice makes him startle and he feels his face turn red.

“I—no, I was just…” he stammers and quickly gets up, dusting off his pants. “I’m sorry,” he adds, because that’s the safest thing to say in any situation.

“Oh no, don’t be,” Mark quickly shakes his head and sits down, patting the ground next to him, and Jerry reluctantly joins him. Silence settles between them but Mark doesn’t seem too bothered and Jerry tries to calm his beating heart. He can’t help but feel on edge with someone this close to him, especially knowing master’s not home. Dennis and Tracy are not here either, he realizes. They went downtown to runs some errands. And mistress’ gone too, he saw her car leave early in the morning.

Oh God. It’s just the two of them, he realizes with a sinking feeling. And he’s sitting so close his shoulder is practically touching Jerry’s. He goes cold all over, fear makes his stomach turn.

From the corner of his eyes, he sees Mark look at him and frown.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Are you alright?” he gently touches his shoulder and Jerry’s unable to suppress the flinch. Immediately, Mark takes his hand away and scoots back, giving Jerry more space.

“Shit. Sorry,” he clears his throat awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to—Look, I’m not going to touch you, alright? I would never.”

Jerry nods, feeling like an idiot. He takes a deep breath and the worst of fear slowly subsides, leaving him a bit shaky and nauseous.

“So, you like gardening?” Mark asks then and Jerry gives him a shy smile, grateful for the change of topic and all too happy to pretend nothing happened.

“Yes, sir,” he says softly. “Back ho—I mean, where I grew up – we grew all kinds of stuff. Fruits, vegetables, herbs… I always enjoyed working with plants more than with people,” he smiles and Mark laughs.

“I can totally see the appeal. So what do you wanna do next?”

“I – I don’t know,” he says tentatively, not daring to suggest anything but giving Mark a hopeful look.

“What about an herb garden for Tracy?”

“I think she would love that,” Jerry smiles, excited.

“Great, let’s go shopping then.”

The trip to the shop takes them the whole morning. Jerry feels like a kid in a candy store, with all the plants and tools and cool stuff, and Mark doesn’t rush him, letting him slowly browse about every aisle in the huge hobby market.

Once they’re done with shopping, he buys both of them tacos from the fast-food truck in front of the market on their way back, which they eat sitting on a curb before they load the bags of soil, planters and herbs into the trunk of the car.

Back home, just as they unload everything and Jerry’s getting excited to get to work, Mark’s phone starts to ring. He exchanges a few words with what sounds like master and then gives Jerry and apologetic look.

“Sorry, Jerry, seems like we’re going to have to pick this up tomorrow, I have to run.”

Jerry tries not to feel too dejected. It’s fine. There’s no hurry. It’s not like the herbs will die if not put into the ground right away. They’ll just do it tomorrow, no big deal.

Although…

He could do it by himself, Jerry perks up at the idea. He’ll finish the whole herb garden while everyone’s gone and then show master that he knows what he’s doing. Surely then master will realize he doesn’t need to pay for a gardener. He’ll see what Jerry can do and he’ll be so impressed that he’ll let him take of the garden.

Excited, he gets to work right away, completely losing himself in the task at hand. Pretty soon it becomes obvious that it’s going to be much harder than Jerry expected, especially as he’s anxious to get it all done before master gets home. The sun is beating down on him relentlessly the entire time, too, but he ignores it, just as he ignores his aching muscles, throbbing head or his thirst.

At some point, he hears Tracy and Dennis come back and he has a moment of panic, when he thinks Dennis will come and send him to do more ironing or something. To Jerry’s relief, he leaves him be, though, and for that he’s ridiculously grateful.

It feels like barely any time has passed before he hears the low rumble of master’s car, though, rationally, he knows it must have been more, judging from the low sun. He curses. There’s only a few plants left to put in him, he only needs a few more minutes!

Luckily, master with Mark walk right inside without even noticing him and so he gets back to work. It’s only when Dennis peeks into the garden some time later, calling his name, that he guiltily takes off the gloves and runs inside.

He’s not done but it’s a close thing. He’ll just have to finish this up after dinner and then he’ll show master and Mark.

“What are you still doing here? Dinner’s being served,” Dennis chides him as he quickly ducks past him.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He doesn’t even have the time to change clothes or get a drink to soothe the pounding pain in his head; he only snatches the three plates from the kitchen and carries them into the dining room.

Master frowns at him disapprovingly as he enters and distantly Jerry realizes he must be dirty. He can’t really find it in himself to care right now. His headache is killing him and the whole world tilts dangerously. Jerry grips the plates tighter, desperate to safely bring them to the table. He’s almost there, when the buzzing in his ears grows louder and his visions starts to black out.

The loud shatter of broken plates is the last thing he hears as his crumples to the floor.

\--°°--

Gabriel frowns as Jerry walks in with the food. He looks flushed, his face red and hot, and his hair sweaty. It takes but one look at his dirt-covered pants and shirt to guess that he’s been in the garden. He’s about to admonish the boy to at least wash up before serving the food when he sways a little, the plates slipping form his fingers, before he, too, falls listlessly to the floor.

Gabriel’s too far to intervene and Hanna quickly scoots her chair back so as not to get food on her. It’s Mark who reaches out, grabbing for him. It’s too late to stop his fall but at least he slows it down and makes sure the boy doesn’t split his head open on the edge of the table.

“You little….,” Hanna seethes as she inspects the little speckles of sauce on her white skirt but Gabriel ignores her as he quickly runs around the table. He kneels by Jerry, gently patting his clammy cheek. Next to him, Mark takes the boy’s legs and holds them up.

Gabriel lets out a breath of relief when Jerry wakes up almost instantly, blinking at Gabriel with wide confused eyes. Something cold and wet nudges his arm and he looks up to find Dennis, his face worried and serious, hand him a bottle of water and a wet towel.

“What happened?” Gabriel demands as he puts the rag on Jerry’s forehead.

“I don’t know,” Dennis says quietly, shaking his head. “I saw him working in the garden, maybe he got overheated?”

Next to him, Mark shifts uncomfortably and Gabriel doesn’t miss the guilty look on his face. Gabriel’s anger flares but he does his best to keep it down. Jerry seems to be regaining consciousness steadily and so Gabriel holds the bottle to his lips and lets him have a few sips. Tracy is hovering nearby, too, and he feels Hanna glowering at them from the table. Suddenly it starts to feel crowded in the dining room.

“Show’s over,” he snaps as he easily lifts the boy up, surprised at how little he weighs. “Tracy, clean this mess up,” he orders before heading to the slaves’ quarters.

Gently he places Jerry in his bed. The boy immediately sits up, watching Gabriel warily while fidgeting with the water bottle label. With only the two of them now, his anger doesn’t go away, quite the opposite, and he gets up to pace the room.

“Master? I’m so sorry about the plates,” Jerry pipes up and Gabriel stop his pacing, giving the boy an incredulous look.

“I don’t care about the stupid plates,” he raises his voice and Jerry seems to shrink into himself. “I want to know what the hell happened here!”

“I—I was—”

“It was Mark’s idea, wasn’t it?” Gabriel interrupts his stammering.

“No, master, it wasn’t, I swear, please,” Jerry frantically shakes his head. “We—went shopping and bought things for an herb garden but he said we’d finish it tomorrow. It was my idea to do it myself.”

“Did you spend the whole afternoon in the sun?”

“I-yes, master, but—”

“Wearing _that_?” he indicates to his long black pants and dark long-sleeved thick shirt. “Did you drink anything at all?”

“No, master,” Jerry admits softly and Gabriel takes a deep breath in through his nose though it does nothing to calm him.

“Why?” he roars and Jerry flinches. Gabriel does feel a bit bad about yelling at him, considering how miserable he looks – his nose and cheeks red, his lips dry and cracked, and the wet cloth still on his forehead. “What were you thinking?”

“I only wanted to prove—to show you that I can take care of the garden myself. That you don’t need to hire a gardener,” Jerry says quietly, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Is that what this is about?” Gabriel asks angrily. “You proving your _worth_?”

“N-no, master, I—”

“Do you really think I care about the measly price of a gardener more than about your well-being?” he shouts. Jerry shakes his head mutely, his breath hitching. “You do enough!” he continues, trying to drive the point home to the boy. “I know how hard you’ve been working here, Dennis tells me everything. You don’t need to overwork yourself to the point of fucking collapsing just to prove yourself useful!”

“Master, please, that’s not—” Jerry shakes his head again but Gabriel doesn’t want to hear any more of his excuses.

“Clearly you don’t know your own limits so from now on, no more working in the garden for you, you hear me?”

Jerry gives Gabriel a heart-broken look before his whole face crumples. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes and starts sobbing quietly, his slender shoulder shaking. Gabriel is a bit confused by the intensity of the boy’s reaction but he attributes it to the exhaustion and stress of the whole afternoon.

“Get some rest,” he says, more softly. “I’ll send Dennis down with some painkillers and aloe vera. And drink up the water,” he orders before he leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

As he’s about to head back upstairs, he sees Mark lounging on the couch in the rec room, his feet kicked up.

“You done?” he asks flatly.

“What?” Gabriel snaps, annoyed.

“Just wondering if you’re done yelling at the kid. Making a sick slave cry, nice job, Gabe,” he says sarcastically as he gets up from the couch.

“Fuck you,” Gabriel snaps.

“Please do,” Mark smirks as he comes closer. “Definitely a better way to let out some of that pent-up anger.”

Gabriel narrows his eyes at him and Mark chuckles, playfully swatting his ass. Once again, his resolve crumples and he grabs Mark’s arm, wordlessly dragging him to the bedroom.

Afterwards, as they’re lying in the bed, both panting and satisfied, Mark gives him an amused look.

“You should get laid more often. You’d be a much nicer person”

“Oh, screw you,” Gabriel huffs, rolling his eyes fondly. “I can get laid whenever I want.”

“Hm,” Mark hums. He lays his head on Gabriel’s chest and Gabriel’s heart aches with longing as he puts an arm around him. It’s true what he said, he could find himself someone to fuck any time he wants, but what he really misses is this feeling of closeness to someone.

“Seriously, though. Don’t be mad at the boy for wanting to do what he loves.”

“What?” Gabriel raises his eyebrows. “He loves gardening?”

“Of course,” Mark frowns, as if it’s obvious.

“How do you know that?”

“I asked. You should try that sometimes, it works like a charm,” Mark teases and Gabriel huffs, even as an uneasy feeling settles in his stomach. Jerry’s heartbroken tears make much more sense now and Gabriel can’t help but a bit feel guilty.

“Come on, let’s get something to eat finally, I’m starving,” Mark gets up and starts to get dressed, leaving Gabriel no option than to follow.

\--°°--

Jerry cries until there are no more tears to cry. Which is quite soon, considering how dehydrated he is and so he just curls on the bed and stares into the wall, wallowing in his misery. Stupid! He screwed up everything and now master’s never letting him in the garden again as he clearly can’t be trusted not to give himself a heat stroke.

Dennis comes in soon after and he wordlessly sits on the bed next to him. Jerry goes rigid but as soon as Dennis places a comforting hand on his shoulder, he wants to start bawling again.

“Oh, Jerry,” Dennis sighs unhappily. He hands him a tube of some gel and Jerry puts it all over his burnt face, sighing at how amazingly cool it feels.

“It’s going to be alright,” Dennis reassures him. “Master never stays mad for long, you’ll see.”

“Okay,” Jerry says dejectedly. Dennis’ wrong but he doesn’t have the energy to argue. Nothing’s going to be alright. He screwed up and master’s getting a gardener while he’s going to be wiping floors and dusting shelves for the rest of his life.

He needs to be grateful for what he has, he reminds himself. He has a kind master. And a nice home and amazingly caring fellow slaves. He is so lucky. And tomorrow, he _will_ be grateful again, he promises himself, but today he just wants to feel sorry for himself.

He turns his back to Dennis, who gets the hint and gets up, patting his shoulder gently one more time before he leaves.

For two days he doesn’t leave the room. Everything hurts, his muscles from exhaustion, his head from the sun and his skin from being scorched.

Master doesn’t come down to pay him a visit over these two days. It’s only Tracy, who brings him food, and Dennis, who comes check up on him, pressing a soft hand to his forehead and asking how he’s feeling.

Even when he starts to feel better, he’s in no hurry to get back to work. He knows he can’t hide here forever though so on the third day in the morning he drags himself into the kitchen and joins the others for breakfast.

“You look much better,” Tracy smiles at him encouragingly as he plops down at the table and he scoffs.

“I look like a snake,” he protests, gesturing to the skin peeling all over his face.

He barely has time to sit down before Mark pops in, too.

“Nice to see you back among the living, Jerry,” he jokes. “Just in time, too.”

Jerry looks up and his smile quickly dies when he sees master on Mark’s heels, his face drawn and serious. His stomach flips nervously but master just ignores him completely.

“Everyone, say goodbye to Mark. I’m taking him to the airport in twenty minutes.”

“Alas, I have to leave,” Mark says dramatically. “I’m heading north this time, a lot of places to discover yet. But don’t worry, I’ll be back soon enough. For your birthday, Gabe, hopefully. Maybe a bit later.”

“At least send me a birthday card,” master says, his face softening a bit at last.

“I will. And speaking of gifts,” Mark grins. “I’ve got you all a little something.”

Reaching into his bag, he pulls out a small, crumpled notebook. It’s looks pretty used, with dog ears and tears and then and there and Jerry leans forwards, curious to see what it’s inside.

“Tracy – for you. I’ve collected these recipes for years all over the world but I sort ran out of space and I’m too lazy to cook for myself most of the time, anyway. So you have it, maybe you’ll find some inspiration in there. If you can read my terrible handwriting, that is,” Mark chuckles.

“Oh, that’s amazing,” Tracy says as she’s leafing carefully through the notebook. “Thank you so much, Mark—I meant, Mr. Perez, sir,” she quickly corrects herself with an apologetic look towards master, who just glares at her.

“And Dennis, an assorted collection—” Mark chuckles as he upends a small bag on the counter, spilling a pile of CDs over it. None of them look professional, with either no covers or something that look like someone printed at home. “—of instrumental music. Pipa, erhu, handpan, sitar, you name it. I buy CDs from like every street musician I like but they’re starting to take up too much space in my bag.”

Jerry smiles along with them as they admire their gifts, content to watch them from where he’s sitting. He doesn’t expect anything at all, if only because Mark couldn’t have known he would be here, and is all the more surprised when Mark produces a third gift, a small box wrapped in a simple brown paper.

“And for Jerry, something a bit less exotic, I’m afraid.”

His hands shake as he opens it, acutely aware of everyone watching him. His heart skips painfully when he sees the small seed packages inside the box, lined perfectly, the pictures on them showing all kinds of vegetables. It’s a starter box for a vegetable garden, he realizes and his hands start to shake even more.

“I—Thank you,” he swallows, his heart hammering. What does this mean? Did master change his mind? Or does Mark not know? Hesitantly he lifts his eyes only to find master watching him intently, a mysterious smile playing at his lips.

“Well, it’s actually a shared gift,” Mark continues. “This part is from me, but Gabe did contribute a tiny little bit too. Come with me,” Mark grabs his arm and leads him away, while Jerry’s still clutching the box with seeds to his chest. Everyone else follows too and they’re all looking at him weird and smiling and Jerry’s heart is beating so fast it actually hurts.

Mark pushes him out into the garden and he blinks against the too bright sun assaulting his eyes after two days of being holed up in his room. After his eyes adjust, he stops dead in his tracks, his mouth falling open in shock.

There’s a greenhouse in the garden.

An actual, real greenhouse. And a large one too, with enough space to plant everything in the little box. Suddenly his legs feel like jelly and his eyes brim with tears.

“Thank you, master—Thank you,” he whispers, blinking at master through the haze of his tears. He doesn’t fight it when his knees give up under him and sinks down on the ground, hugging master’s legs, careful not to get snot and tears on his pants. “Thank you so much.”

“Alright,” master says awkwardly, patting his head. “But no more overtaxing yourself, understood? I don’t want anything like that ever happening again,” he says sternly.

“No, master, I promise,” Jerry sniffles, shaking his head.

“Well then. We should probably leave if you want to catch your flight, Mark,” master says and Jerry quickly lets go of him, sitting back on his heels. They say their last goodbyes with Mark and as soon as everyone leaves, Jerry gets up on his shaky legs and goes inspect the greenhouse.

It’s beautiful. Brand-new and shiny and clearly of very high-quality. Not that master would settle for anything less.

For now it’s completely empty but it’s fine. He’ll have to buy all the tools and supplies. His head swims just thinking about it and he slides down on the ground, sitting with his back against the glass, completely overwhelmed with gratefulness and joy and no small amount fear that is always there in the back of his mind, whenever he’s happy. It’s the fear that nothing lasts forever and everything can and will be taken away at master’s whim.

Taking a deep breath, he forces himself to push it to the back of his mind again. Instead, he spends the rest of the morning sitting in the empty greenhouse, just daydreaming about everything he’s going to plant there.


End file.
